


Hunger at last

by callmenewbie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adult ciri, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Barebacking, But not in a gruesome way, Canon-Typical Violence, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of War, Mild Language, Mute!Jaskier, Mutual Pining, Xenophobia, canon typical and otherwise, jaskier's insides are twisted, the inevitable bath scene, the time hath come, voiceless!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmenewbie/pseuds/callmenewbie
Summary: “You know I’ve just been transferred there. Novigrad, I mean.”Geralt didn’t say anything, only made a sarcastic sound deep in his throat and took a sip of his beer.“What?”“Good luck staying alive for more than a week.” He toasted him with his jug.“Excuse me, it's not like I'm planning on dying any time soon!” Jaskier’s voice turned slightly high-pitched in his offense.“Well then don’t go to Novigrad,” he said and he seemed more serious now. Jaskier swallowed with a big bob of his Adam’s apple. “If the monsters won’t kill you, people will.”OrJaskier worked hard to fix Geralt's public image and to become his friend for years, yet he still becomes collateral damage in his breakup, but apparently it's not enough to make their ways part. But as they're trying to fall back into a newly set routine, things are starting to get complicated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 244





	1. You what?

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve seen a post where someone compared Geralt to a pest control guy and I took the initiative a bit too far. This is pretty much based on the show and then pulled into a modern setting, I meddled with the timeline a little, but otherwise pretty much everything happened or happened in a similar way than in the show, I did take some liberties with Jaskier’s backstory though.
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy this story, as it has grown to my heart dearly over time.

The pub where Jaskier secured a gig for the night was a rundown little hole in Posada, but the truth was he didn’t mind the place, as long as they served beer and they let him sing. In a week time, he would be out of here anyways, so he used all the opportunities that came his way.

So here he was, getting through the last minutes of a fairly tiring performance, with many hecklers and stupid comments from the _very_ few people in the pub. Well at least no one thrown anything at him yet.

After finishing the disastrous show he walked over to the counter to get a comfort-beer and merge in the misery of the fact, that while he was up there people at least cared, now it was like he’d never even been there in the first place.

He was looking around the dimly lit pub, not really looking, more like… staring without seeing, until his eyes stopped on a brooding man in the corner. He didn’t notice him before, which was peculiar on its own, as he had shoulder length white hair and an expression that was like having ‘leave me alone or else’ plastered on his forehead. If that wouldn’t have been enough to notice him, he had two rather huge swords by his side.

Jaskier’s legs moved without him even intending to and shortly he found himself standing by the man’s table. He didn’t look at him, but it was fairly clear that he noted his presence.

He didn’t know what to say, or well he tried to say anything that would be charming enough to get him a lovely night in a stranger’s room, but his eyes wandered over the man’s swords again and before he could stop himself, he said: “You’re a witcher.”

“You’re an elf.” Came the plain answer.

Jaskier pulled his mouth into a thin line, but quickly fixed his expression.

“Half-elf,” he corrected with a light tone.

“Get lost.”

Unfortunately for him Jaskier had no intention to do that. Instead he sat down opposite him.

“You’re Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer but that didn’t deter Jaskier from continuing anyway; he was used to making one-sided conversations (that would be reason number one, why he didn’t mind leaving this place, his recent co-workers were all too plain-minded for him, also pretty rude and they were never even trying to find a common ground with him).

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you working in Novigrad these days?”

“I’m on a faraway contract.”

This made Jaskier’s eyebrows slip a touch higher. Normally witchers didn’t take on faraway contracts for several reasons; one is being the fact that it wasn’t a ‘little farther down the road’ contract, but actually days’ or weeks’ worth of travelling distance, which normally someone else in the area could deal with instead of them, an other reason being that they didn’t like to nor should their leave their posts in their resident cities.

“Why would you take on a faraway contract?”

“Coin,” was all he said, then took a long swig of his beer.

“But… Novigrad is buzzing with monsters ever since the war.”

That was true; the war, between the North and the South was over thirty years ago now. Humans have burned up so many fields and forests that monsters have scarce to turn to, be it a place to build their nests or to find food. They ventured into the cities in the hope of a place to stay and feed, even if just for the night. Jaskier has always thought that it was rather sad somehow, on the other hand he would not like to become wyvern food, so he was plenty thankful for the contracted witchers and sorcerers, who took care of them. But he also knew that wasn’t what everyone else thought, people still pushed witchers about and called them abominations and monsters; it has always been beyond Jaskier how people could be so smallminded. They were the ones who fought for their safety day by day, the ones who fought their wars and yet they spit on them for not being human, or being mutated in the witchers’ case.

He snapped back to where he left the conversation. He had a habit of falling in deep thought very easily, even in mid-conversations.

“Who’s taking care of them now?”

“Witches, sorcerers… there are other witchers.”

Geralt shrugged and Jaskier thought about what he had heard about Novigrad. He was looking forward to leave Posada and experience the buzzing life of a big city, but it seemed much scarier. His generally long life might be just unnaturally shortened, since he has never been a big fighter.

“You know I’ve just been transferred there. Novigrad, I mean.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, only made a sarcastic sound deep in his throat and took a sip of his beer.

“ _What?_ ”

“Good luck staying alive for more than a week.” He toasted him with his jug.

“Excuse me, I am not planning on dying any time soon!” Jaskier’s voice turned slightly high-pitched in his offense.

“Well then don’t go to Novigrad,” he said and he seemed more serious now. Jaskier swallowed with a big bob of his Adam’s apple. “If the monsters won’t kill you, people will.”

“I’ll be working in an office, who would want to kill a regular office worker?”

“You are not a regular worker anywhere,” he pointed out.

“Right. I also won’t be working with witchers, no one has to know more than what’s prompted.” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“Novigrad is a filthy place, people are stupid, but nosy, they’ll find out. You better don’t tell anyone prompted or otherwise.”

There was a long beat of silence between them, Jaskier nervously chewing on his bottom lip, while Geralt sipping his beer, looking around the place time to time.

“My parents died in the war…” Jaskier started quietly, “my mother was stabbed by our own, just because she was an elf. If you think I don’t know what people are capable of, let me tell you this; I’ve been called things and been through hell for who I am.”

Geralt huffed angrily, but didn’t say anything.

“But I wouldn’t change that for anything, because I am what my parents made me and I loved them with all my heart. I like who I am and if some assfaced fuckwit thinks differently, well that’s their problem.” He said that now, but he actually didn’t tell anyone what he was, until it was necessary; luckily there weren’t many tell-tale signs of his origin, if his eyes were just a little too bright for an average human who was he to point it out? He had regular teeth and human ears, as of his charm and beauty he would prefer to think that came from him and not from his elven blood.

“On the other hand,” he added with a smile, sailing the topic towards more interesting waters, “you _do_ deserve better money for the job you do and a bit of an image fixing would do you good, especially for that Butcher of Blaviken incident, I mean it was nearly forty years ago and people are still talking about it – fortunately for you that’s what I do.”

Geralt was listening intently, even understandingly up until now, but now his gruff exterior returned.

“Fuck off.”

“No, hey, listen, I don’t ask for any money, well not if it doesn’t pan out anyways, but I work in the advertisement business, I know some stuff that could help you.”

The witcher looked him up and down with raised brows; it looked like he was considering it.

“Hm.”

“That wasn’t a no.” Jaskier pointed out, but instead of an actual answer Geralt just got up, picked up his swords and started towards the door.

“I see you in Novigrad!” He shouted after him, cupping his hand by his mouth, as the man disappeared on the other side of the door. Jaskier sagged back against the back of the chair and smiled for himself. He thought that something was in motion and he felt actually useful for the first time in years.

This should be good.

*

In a week time Jaskier stood in the door of the Wolf Firm’s office, it was very bare at first sight, but when he stepped in, it was a messy little place, full of weapons and paperwork scattered all over the furniture.

“We used to have a secretary,” explained the white-haired witcher, “but we couldn’t afford it anymore, people are very stingy when it comes to witchers, they always try to find excuses why they wouldn’t have to pay, and the police is not partial to us, so… anyway you don’t need to know this. What brought you to us? No offense, but you don’t look like a regular client.”

The girl who let him in seemed to be quite the opposite of the White Wolf himself. He was all brooding and grumpiness, this witcher seemed more like a ray of sunshine. She didn’t look old, but then again you could never tell a witcher’s age.

“None taken, my name is Jaskier, I’m here to fix your public image.”

The girl – or woman – started to laugh loudly. “You what?”

 _“No offense_ but you don’t have proper ads and you just can’t rely on the rumours that go around. They are not always kind.” He inclined his head, for that the witcher’s smile faltered.

“Well, you might be right. But as I told you, we cannot pay you.” She spread her arms apologetically.

“Well, luckily for you, I don’t ask for any money. Well, not yet anyways, first let me do the work, and if it turns out right, we’ll talk about the details then.”

“Hm. And you talked about this with Geralt?

“Yeah, actually, I would say he was _very_ enthusiastic about the idea.” He gave her a wide grin and she smiled back, sticking her arm out.

“My name is Ciri, I’m curious what you can do to make this,” she made a vague gesture implying the office – or the whole business really, “better.”

Jaskier took her hand and shook it, her grip was much stronger than a friendly handshake should have been (even though he was sure that was what she was going for) and he made a note in his mind, because he was sure that wasn’t a good starter with clients.

“I’ll do what I can.”

*

It would be a lie to say that Geralt was happy to have Jaskier around, but since Ciri seemed more than pleased with his presence, he tolerated him, at first. Then in a few weeks’ time things have started to change.

Geralt told Jaskier outright that he would most absolutely not be allowed to accompany him or follow him in any way. The only component of the equation that escaped Geralt was the fact, that Jaskier didn’t really take orders well, actually he disregarded most rules and had a hard time to _listen_ to anyone in general.

That’s how it happened, that instead of doing a routine clean up with a nekker nest, he ended up distracted, when just after killing the leader of six, he heard a high-pitched whine.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure you’re just hungry and looking for a place to stay, but this is really not a necessary-“

“Jaskier” he growled. It wasn’t enough that the idiot disregarded what he had told him, but he tried to _negotiate_ with semi-sentient monsters. Seriously, what a fucking moron.

“Oh, hi Geralt, don’t mind me, I’m just here to gather information.”

“Get out of here, I told you not to follow me!” He shouted, as he cut through one of the nekker’s chest, turning his sword just so, to make it drop dead when he pulled it out.

“Well, yes, of course,” he said, while pretty much cowering behind him from the beast he just tried to talk out of killing him. “But then how would I compose a song that could improve your business?”

“Another fucking song?”

“Well, I’m an artist Geralt, I work with what I have,” he said breezily, while Geralt cut down the nearest monster’s head.

“You work in advertisement.” He said simply and then dove in to take care of the other three.

“That’s my day job, Geralt, but art and music is my _passion_!” Always one for the dramatics; not something that he shared with the man. To be fair, there wasn’t much else he shared with him either.

He didn’t answer him, until he finished killing the beasts and collecting proof of the deed to secure his payment. Truth be told ever since Jaskier had released that annoying song, people were more prone to pay up and pay well. He was considering giving a percentage to Jaskier for it. He hasn’t mentioned this yet, because he had expected the loud expression of joy and smugness that he’d hate to deal with. Maybe he’ll just ask Ciri to tell him, they’ve pretty much become best friends by now.

“You cannot come with me on the job.” He told him seriously, while wiping his sword down on his trousers. He located Jaskier’s car and purposefully started towards it with the body parts.

“Oh no, no, no, you can’t put those in my car, absolutely not! I’ve just had it cleaned!” He whined, but Geralt ignored him and placed everything in the trunk; it was obviously open.

“Great, that’s just great, now my car’s going to smell like blood and guts and ugh, whatever is that” He pointed towards the dark sludge oozing out of a nekker’s head.

“Did you hear what I said?” He shut the top of the trunk pointedly.

“Of course I heard, as you know my hearing is above average.” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here in the first place?”

“What about your hearing? I’ve already answered you that question. I’m here for material for my new song.”

“Right. And who’s going to sing it, if a nekker rips your head off or a wyvern stings you to death?”

“Well, you wouldn’t let that happen.” He said it with such confidence and ease, Geralt had to think what gave him the impression. Even though he was actually right, because however annoying he was and that was _plenty_ , he had good intentions and Geralt never met anyone, who had purely good thoughts towards him. He never smelled of fear, ever. Not when they first met, not ever since and all he tried – and he tried alright – he just couldn’t make him to budge. He stood his ground with an expression that made Geralt think when Jaskier looked at him, he saw something else than a witcher or a mutant, unlike everybody else. It was refreshing and unnerving all the same. Jaskier confused him and made him disoriented, which was something that he did not need during his fights.

“Once again I have to point out,” Jaskier said in a small talk worth of conversational tone, as he walked around the car to get in on the driver’s side, “the absence of an answer is not a ‘no’.”

“Hm.” Was all Geralt added from his side as he got in the car beside Jaskier. The inside of the car normally would have smelled of cheap tree-shaped air freshener and Jaskier’s cologne, but the overwhelming smell of blood and nekker bits in the trunk, as well as on his clothes muted everything else.

Jaskier didn’t turn on the radio, but he started humming a tune, that Geralt suspected was the jingle for his firm’s next ad. He admitted to himself a little reluctantly; it already sounded catchy.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked when they neared in the city border. The traffic lights flashed on Jaskier’s face and his ridiculous turquoise shirt, making them shift from one colour to another.

“Doing what?” He asked, as he checked the traffic in the mirror before he changed lanes.

“This. The ads and the songs, all of it.”

“Oh. Well, because as I told you in Posada, you deserve better treatment. Geralt, you and Ciri save people from meeting their abrupt and painful death, you make sure that kids get to school safely, that mothers and fathers get home after work, that husbands don’t have to take calls about their wives sudden death because of a monster infestation. You keep people safe and they treat you like trash, just because they don’t like what you are, but they don’t know _who_ you are.”

Geralt had no idea what to say to that, so he kept silent until he barked a “turn right here” and left it at that. Jaskier was undoubtedly the sincerest and weirdest person he’s ever met.


	2. You what? II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Jaskier has a bit of a problem that he thinks he can manage, Geralt decides otherwise.

Years have passed and Jaskier became part of the team; he even achieved a friendly term with Roach, Geralt’s huge brown dog (a Great Dane, who was growling at anyone who got too close to her and if they tried to touch her, she might even bite; Jaskier had quickly learned to have some treats on him all the time and after a few weeks she started to warm up to him). On the other hand Geralt wasn’t any friendlier than before, which Ciri assured him over and over again was normal and she always told him to ‘give it time’.

He actually didn’t mind it that much, he liked Geralt all the same. Well, not the same as when they’ve met, more like he was horribly head over heels in love with the man, who wouldn’t even allow Jaskier to call him a friend.

But they’ve settled into a sort of routine, where Ciri and Geralt have killed the monsters and Jaskier sorted their paperwork, viewed over their contracts and made sure of their payment to be satisfying and always present, while also working at the Ad Company, fixing sound and timing on all the preapproved ads, plus keep pushing his musical career – which thanks to the Wolf Firm has picked up quite well lately.

His feeling remained unattended for and he was sort of fine with that really. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in love in all these years, he had; plenty of times. And although they were all true, they were short-lived and nothing came even close to the burning and the strength of what he felt for the older witcher. And then Yennefer became part of their lives, through a fairly uncomfortable mishap with a djinn. And really who would have thought that djinns were still a thing?

He actually could have liked Yennefer quite a lot; she wasn’t just beautiful, but she was smart and witty, powerful and independent, he could absolutely understand what Geralt had seen in her. That being said it didn’t make it any easier seeing them together, especially because it wasn’t exactly a kind and loving relationship, more like a break up and make up sort of sleeping around for years, which he could clearly see what a horrible effect it had on Geralt. Who obviously never talked about this. At all.

And if that haven’t been enough to put up with for the last four years, when Yennefer found out about the wish, she didn’t just make Geralt’s life miserable, but indirectly Jaskier’s too, as the witcher – the emotionally constipated and undertrained brute he was – took out all his pain and anger on Jaskier, who really was just an innocent bystander.

That’s how this night found Jaskier alone and even though elbow-deep in work – still bored. It has been nearly four months now, when Geralt cursed him out of his life and it wasn’t just upsetting, but made his life much more boring without his one job that was actually exciting. Well, of course producing music was also exciting, but in a very different and much less dangerous way.

It wasn’t all bad of course, since at least he still could use his computer at the company to work on his album, that should be ready to be released in a month or so; that is if he could find company to make a contract with, which wouldn’t pull out or got destroyed in the very last minute, as the last two he tried to sign with.

But the only available time for this was in the late night hours, which left him sitting by his desk in his pathetic little cubicle by the light of his desk lamp, in an otherwise dark floor of a huge building. It would have been rather scary, if not for the nearly ten years of working with witchers and watching all kinds of monsters being sliced up to pieces; compared to that a dark office building hasn’t got that much of an effect on him anymore.

After a couple of hours of leaning over his desk he was in a sort of meditative state, where all he could sense was the all-encompassing pain spreading over his body and the track in his earbuds for what seemed like the sixteen thousandth time. It was the last track on the supposed album and he just couldn’t find a way to make himself satisfied with it.

So when there was a huge rumble coming from the hallway, he couldn’t be bothered by it and when it became louder, he just turned the music up to the absolute maximum to tune it out. But after a few minutes it started to interrupt his thoughts, making it impossible to go on. So he decided to take a break and just check who decided to grace him with his probably very drunken present.

He took out his earbuds, but before he could stand up, there was a feather light touch on the back of his chair. When he turned around there was quite the scene in front of him.

“Oh, hi Geralt.”

The man in question was shoved up to the back of Jaskier’s wheelie chair, holding a barghest’s jaw open with two hands.

“Jaskier. What the hell are you doing here?” He gritted through clenched teeth.

“I should be asking you this, I work here.” He stretched his arms wide in indignation.

“It’s fucking past midnight.”

“Oh is it now? I lost track of the time.” He tapped a finger absentmindedly to his chin. Geralt growled deeply.

“Jaskier, get the fuck out of here!”

He rolled his eyes and got out of the chair, now standing behind Geralt and that ugly demonic dog. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“No.”

“Jaskier.” His tone could have been threatening for anyone else, but Jaskier had gotten used to it by now.

“No. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” he snarled aggressively, “I’m saving your fucking life.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

“If I let go, you’re dead.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” If anyone ever matched his own stubbornness, that was definitely the witcher.

But after a few seconds, he seemed to think it over, either because he really wanted to protect Jaskier, or because he couldn’t hold on much longer. Either ways.

“What the fuck should I do, to make you _move_?”

“Say sorry.” Was the simple answer, which he gave the witcher without even batting an eyelash.

“What?” This threw him off just enough that he almost let the beast’s jaw slip out of his hold.

“You heard me. Say sorry and then I’ll run. Otherwise you’ll have to clean up the mess that dog will make out of me.”

He did hope it wouldn’t come to that though, he was sort of imagining living a much longer life. Also it wouldn’t be a dignified death; letting a stupid hell hound rip him into shreds out of stubbornness. Although he had to admit, it did seem fitting.

“Why would” he tried to push the barghest farther away from his face “I” he put the force of one leg on the dog’s chest “apologise for?” He panted out finally.

“Oh I don’t know, blaming me for everything you’ve fucked up on your own?”

“Jask-”

“I believe you were calling it the one blessing.” He offered helpfully.

“Jaskier, this is really not the time.”

“Well, as good a time as any.” He shrugged.

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier!”

“You know it’s only two words, I’m sure you have the _capacity._ ”

“You insufferable-“

“Come on Geralt, it’s not that big of an effort to just-“

“I’m sorry!” He shouted suddenly, clearly not seeing any other solution for the situation. “Now will you fucking move?”

“Was that so hard?”

“ _Jaskier!_ ” Well this was more of a tone that even he would listen to.

“Fine, fine. Give me just five seconds.”

“Make it three.” He grumbled, as Jaskier scrammed and ran to the small kitchenette a few feet over.

Geralt let go and punched the beast in its face as soon as he could. It jumped on him forcefully, making a rumbling sound echo through the office as Geralt’s back collided with the floor.

Jaskier watched everything through a tiny window hole.

They were wrestling for a good couple of minutes, it wasn’t boring per se, but Jaskier did start to think about getting the kettle going. But before he could actually put the thought into reality, Geralt has lost his grip over the dog’s body and as it’s raised its ugly head; Jaskier could see that as its glowing, red eyes fixed on him.

“Fuck” he whispered.

Jaskier ran to the door, but the beast was much faster than him and it banged against it with such a force, that it snapped in Jaskier’s face, making him yelp painfully. He definitely broke his nose.

He was keep pushing the door against the dog’s head, but it was too strong, so all he could achieve was a standstill were the door was his only shield against the very sharp and bloody teeth.

Suddenly the lock clicked shut, as the body on the other side disappeared and Jaskier clashed against the door painfully.

After waiting a few seconds, he tentatively opened the door and peered out to see a headless body and Geralt standing there with a disgusting sword in one hand and an even more disgusting head in the other.

He sighed in relief, but then when he looked down to his chest, he froze in midmotion.

“You alright?” Geralt asked, while dropping the head on the side and getting some kitchen roll to wipe his sword. Normally Jaskier would point it out that it is not the appropriate use for it, but he had bigger problems now.

“No. No, I’m not alright!” He exclaimed angrily and threw his hands in the air.

Geralt looked him over suspiciously.

“Jaskier, it’s just a broken nose. You had much worse.” He commented as he sheathed his sword.

“I don’t care about that!” He said indignantly, waving it off. “But look at _this_!” He pulled on his lilac shirt for good measure, just to show Geralt the stain his own blood made on it.

“That is literally one drop.”

“Yeah, and it’s never gonna come out of it.” He whined desperately, but Geralt just rolled his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand the weight of this, his whole wardrobe consisted of black clothes and black clothes only.

Great. He _just_ bought this shirt.

He was still scraping at the drop of blood, smearing it even more into the fabric, when he looked up at the witcher.

“Aren’t barghests normally hunt in packs?”

“The rest is already dead. Two blocks from here.”

“Oh. Well then.”

He took some of the kitchen roll himself and tried to wipe away the blood from his face, noting that it was still bleeding a little. With one quick – but pretty painful – movement he set his nose right cursing under his breath, it wasn’t the first time he had to do this, but he rather did it himself, then letting the witcher taking care of it.

“Go home, Jaskier.”

“I’m sorry to say this Geralt, but you just left a godawful mess in my office, clearly starting around my cubicle and my boss knows I’m pulling an overnight here.”

“I’ll handle her, go home. The cleaning brigade has to shut down this floor for a couple of days anyway.” Geralt said with nonchalance, already texting his contact at the said brigade with the address and details.

“Ugh.” Jaskier grimaced grumpily.

“This is standard procedure,” ha started and then raised an eyebrow questioningly at him. “You know that.”

“Yeah. I just forgot about it.” He sagged against the kitchen counter; he looked much more upset, than when the barghest showed up, even more than when he noticed the stain on his shirt.

“What is it Jaskier?” Geralt eyed him seriously.

“Well, I was sort of hoping to finish up the works on my album, you know it’s really just the last song, something is missing and I can’t find-“

“Jaskier. If your deadline is not in two days, I doubt that would affect your album. You have a few days off, paid by the city, you work too much anyways. Go home and enjoy it.” If he sounded a little worried about him, well, that must have been the atmosphere in the warmly lit kitchenette and definitely didn’t have to do anything with him.

Jaskier nodded shakily.

“Yeah, sure, except… there is the thing.” He bit his bottom lip and Geralt had seen this before; it was a nervous habit. It looked like Jaskier was in trouble and he should fucking knew that’s the case, because he _always_ found himself in trouble if left unattended. Simply unbelievable.

“What. Thing.” He gritted through his teeth, running low on patience.

“The thing, the thing that is uh that I sort of kind of have-“

“Jaskier.” Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Out with it.”

“Uh, yeah, so I’ve sort of lost my apartment.” He said finally with a sheepish grin.

“You what? How did you even do that?” He thought that the man couldn’t surprise him anymore, with Jaskier one just had to expect everything. But this was still, well _unexpected_. Jaskier was working constantly, even if they haven’t been acquaintances anymore, his job paid rather fine at the Ad Company and his music business finally made more money than it took away, even if just barely.

“Uh yeah, you see, I forgot to pay rent in the last three months and I wanted to, really, but then I spent so much time at work that I forgot it every day and now my landlord doesn’t believe me, so he put me out a week ago.”

He knew that sometimes Jaskier forgot to eat or drink actual water (instead of the sugary syrups he drank most of the times) and to shower and to change on occasion. But he was very strict about his payments, be it incoming or outgoing.

Geralt hoped it didn’t have to do anything with their fight.

“Jaskier. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked softly.

“Uh, _duh_ , we weren’t talking? You told me to fuck off?” Fair enough, still felt like a painful gut-punch though. “Anyway it’s not your problem, it’s my own fault, I just have to find a new apartment, that’s all. I just couldn’t find the time…”

“Where have you been living in the last week?”

“Oh, well here.” He gestured to the tiny lounge that was connected to the kitchenette and on the worn-out sofa there was a thin baby pink blanket and a pillow.

“Does your boss know?”

“Not exactly. I told her it’s because of my overnights.” Jaskier shrugged.

Geralt looked at him with a pinched expression, then sighed.

“Let’s go.” He barked out gruffly and Jaskier made a surprised little noise.

“Wha- where?”

“To my place. You can’t stay here.”

Jaskier gaped at him and it seemed after all these years he finally found a way to render him speechless.

“Come on. Your car’s in the parking lot?”

He just nodded and as Geralt started to walk over to the lifts, picking up the barghest head on his way, he quickly gathered up his pillow and blanket and ran after him.

*

The drive home was less than ideal. Since Jaskier had to move out from his previous place and had no new place to put his belongings to, his car was filled with them. More like overfilled. They barely could get in and Geralt couldn’t even lean back in his seat, because then he would risk getting impaled by a weirdly sharp cue stick, that Jaskier used to have on his wall as decoration, despite the fact that he never in his life has played snooker before.

Jaskier only ever been in Geralt’s apartment a handful of times and even then he’d never been here alone with the witcher, they were accompanied by either Ciri or Yennefer or on one memorable occasion Lambert. So now he felt a bit lost, like he just couldn’t find balance.

The flat was spacious; kitchen, living room on the first floor (there was a reasonably sized balcony opening from the living room, but the last time Lambert visited he broke the doorknob and it hasn’t been fixed yet, so no one could actually use it), Ciri’s room, Geralt’s room and the bathroom on the second. All of this right above the Wolf Firm’s office. The walls were grey, which in Geralt’s opinion looked ‘neutral’, but Jaskier would rather call it ‘depressing’. The furniture was neat and heavily rotated, as the witchers had to change not one sofa after soaking it thoroughly with blood, guts and other substances. There weren’t many personal belongings in the place; a couple of pictures along the walls and stairs, mainly for Ciri’s influence.

As they walked in Roach ran to the door, dancing by their feet excitedly. Jaskier patted her head in passing.

“Ciri’s out of the city, she should be back tomorrow. You can take her room for tonight.”

Jaskier knew as much; he didn’t talk to Geralt in the last four months, but he did keep in touch with Ciri, she was his best friend right after Geralt, if he could count him at all.

He just nodded.

They were standing in the living room, in awkward silence for a minute.

“I’ll just-“ Jaskier started, but Geralt just walked away without a word.

“Right.”

He noted the distant click of the bathroom’s door and the dull thuds of armour pieces hitting the tiles, then the water running.

“Right.” He repeated and slowly made his way towards Ciri’s room. He quickly sent a text to her – just so she would not take him as an intruder and kill him on the spot when he found him in her bed – in case she was coming back in the early hours, then haphazardly removed his ruined shirt and trousers and dropped down onto the bed.

He tried to sleep, but for a long while he just listened to the noises coming from the other side of the wall, as the shower stopped running and only the scrubbing sound remained, as Geralt started to clean his armour.


	3. Unexpected visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tries his best, but the Universe is seemingly out there to get him.

The next morning Geralt woke up to the unusual level of noise in his living room and took him a couple of seconds to remember; Jaskier stayed the night. He got out of bed grumpily and trying to ignore the sounds, walked over to the bathroom. He took an unnecessarily long amount of time to wash his face and brush his teeth, before taking the stairs. The vision that he was trying to avoid was still waiting for him nonetheless.

The living room was full of Jaskier’s bags and other belongings, as him and Ciri tried to assign some place for each of them, while Roach happily circled them in the process.

Geralt ran a hand down his face and braced himself.

“Geralt, finally. I thought you’ll be sleeping till tomorrow!” Ciri greeted him with a smile. Geralt looked at the clock on the wall that showed 8:37 on its display. It was true that they’ve usually been up by dawn, but it really wasn’t that late for him to be told off for it.

He offered a grunt as he passed the people and the mess to make his way to the kitchen. Ciri looked well, but obviously tired, she probably didn’t sleep a minute last night, making her way back to the city straight after her contract has been done.

“Oh, hey Geralt. Don’t worry, all this is going in Ciri’s room, well most of it anyways.” Jaskier poked his head through the archway that led into the kitchen and Geralt only stared at him; there was a very visible bruise pulling over the bridge of his nose, already dark purple; the mark of his unfortunate meeting with the door last night. He was casually holding his cue stick probably deciding where to put it – Geralt’s advice would be the bin.

“I made some coffee, if you want.” He added softly, then his head disappeared from the doorway as soon as it came and the sounds of packing and walking up and down the stairs filled the flat.

Geralt poured himself some of the mentioned liquid into a mug – which was suspiciously unfamiliar – and sat down on one of the barstools by the kitchen island. It was just as uncomfortable as always, but it took up much less place, than an actual dining table and regular chairs would have, as he remembered Ciri reasoning when they moved in here.

So Jaskier is going to stay indefinitely. Great.

Not like he had anyone else to blame for it, since he was the one who invited him and possibly the reason why he needed the invite in the first place. And despite the fact that Jaskier coaxed an apology out of him the night before, he didn’t actually feel much better about it.

After a good ten minutes the noise from the living room ceased and Ciri walked into the kitchen, Jaskier by her side, chatting easily.

“So does this mean that you’re coming back to work with us?” She asked Jaskier and the man was obviously uncomfortable by the question, if his fumbling movements and the fact that he almost head-butted the counter by a misstep were anything to go by.

“I- I don’t know, that actually didn’t come up last night.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“Well, I’m sure that Geralt wants you back too,” she shot a meaningful glace towards the other witcher, then turned back to Jaskier. “You can imagine the office after all these months, it’s a right mess.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt like he was asking for help or permission, or just an answer for Ciri’s question really. He sighed.

“We could use the help.” Geralt finally said and the other two were positively beaming.

It turned out that Jaskier has also made breakfast, which Geralt took without a word, while they talked about some of the latest jobs quietly. Soon after that, they all made their way down to the office where Jaskier dove into the piles of paperwork, the witchers leaving him alone to take care of some recent contracts.

*

One week passed like this and then two, and slowly, day by day Jaskier integrated himself into their lives. Even though none of the three of them had spent too much time in the apartment, all of them working most part of the day, sometimes even through the night. But there were changes.

In the morning – even if he just came from a contract or was leaving for one – there was always coffee and something to eat; fried eggs, toast, beans, everyday something different and just as nice and somehow always still warm and fresh.

Even though they filled up Ciri’s room with Jaskier’s stuff, he slept in the living room and his thin little blanket and soft pillow was a constant sight on the sofa, alongside with more and more small signs of the man around the flat; his toothbrush in the bathroom, his colourful mugs in the kitchen cabinet, his guitar leaned against the wall under the stairs, just beside Roach’s bed and that ridiculous magic eight ball on the coffee table, right beside his open books that were turned downwards because he could never find a bookmark.

The worst part was that Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed by any of it. Jaskier’s lingering smell around the flat, the few times they’ve ended up having breakfast or dinner together or the times when he found him sleeping, leaned over the kitchen island, knocked out from too many hours of work – these were the best parts of his days. Jaskier’s presence in his home filled his chest with the sort of warmth that he hasn’t felt since the first time Ciri hugged him, and that times twenty.

It also made him more confused than ever and he wasn’t sure anymore if it was a bad thing. Vesemir would definitely say so, friends and family excluding witchers were never real, so don’t crave it – it was one of the first things he had taught him. So why was it that Jaskier was so adamant to call him friend and never seemed to stop after more than ten years, despite Geralt’s best efforts to discourage him?

*

It was three weeks since Jaskier moved in, although Geralt actually hasn’t seen him in the flat at all in the past few days; only downstairs, in the office. He was heading out to deal with a stray warg, a couple of blocks down, near the preschool. Normally he would stop to listen to Jaskier’s chatter for a few minutes before leaving, but the man seemed pretty busy dealing with a particularly difficult client.

“Look, I understand that it’s probably hard for you to operate your business with some beast feeding on your stock, but for this price we simply cannot take the contract.” He said with his patience running out, he was fisting the phone cords hard enough to make his knuckles white. Roach, who rested her head in Jaskier’s lap looked up at Geralt hopefully.

“Not now girl, next time” he mumbled to her, quickly scratching behind her ear and turned to Jaskier, but he was still furrowing his brows furiously.

“Please, understand that for unspecified species we simply cannot charge less, if- no, listen, no. If you are not willing to pay the price, you can turn to a sorcerer, although I doubt they would charge you less, not to mention in the waiting time you might end up losing your remaining livestock.” He said cunningly, laying on the vowels lazily. After a few seconds there was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Wonderful! We could be out, let’s see” he flipped over the calendar he kept on the desk and conveniently missed the next two available days, before he said: “How about Friday, in the morning? Splendid. Bye-bye.” Geralt heard his satisfied voice, before he shut the door behind himself.

When he returned in the early afternoon, he expected to find the flat empty as usual. He started to unbuckle his armour in the hallway and dropped the pieces by the stairs, then made his way to the kitchen. He had some smaller injuries, but nothing as serious as his hunger.

To his surprise Jaskier was sitting by the kitchen island, cradling a mug of tea and looking positively miserable.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Asked Geralt instead of a greeting, he could smell a bit of salt in the air, mixed with some chamomile and lavender; a weak calming decoction. He knew that he rarely consumed herbal teas, because of his biology they affected him much harder, than they would a regular human.

He could hear Jaskier’s pulse, it was eerily slow, even slower than in his sleep. There was barely any blood in his cheeks, making the faint yellow bruise above his nose more visible and his eyes seemed a little foggy, unfocused. Overall it wasn’t a promising look on him.

“I… I’ve been fired.” He said with hoarse voice.

“For what?” Asked Geralt while he sat down beside him.

“Apparently someone tipped off my boss about, about what I am and…” He trailed off. Geralt felt a bitter taste fill his mouth.

“Do you know who was it?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No idea.”

Geralt wrinkled his forehead in thought, despite however annoying the man could be and how good he was at getting into trouble, Jaskier didn’t really have enemies, as far as he knew.

Which meant it must be one of his.

*

Jaskier spent most of his time in the office downstairs and taking Roach for walks in the next couple of days. It was unnerving, to say the least. He was trying to find another job and every time it went fine up until the point of the interview when all of the places suddenly found an excuse not to take him, either saying that the spot has been filled or they found someone with better qualifications, one of them simply told him not to come in without an actual reason.

He was starting to think he might be cursed, he was actually considering talking to Yennefer about it, but soon enough he found out about the real reason.

It was a late Thursday night and none of the witchers were home yet. He busied himself in the kitchen; he just took a tray of lasagne out of the oven and prepared to do the dishes when he heard a noise coming from the door.

Someone was clearly trying to come inside and this wasn’t the weird part; it was the fact that he couldn’t hear the rattling of the keys, it was like the person on the other side was trying to force the door off of its hinges.

He carefully made his way to the door and looked into the peephole; there was a man, wearing a robe – that would be a rather standout outfit on the streets –, but he didn’t recognise him at all. The man looked up and his gaze was foggy and his expression rigid. After spending years by the side of the witchers and Yennefer he knew what this meant; he was under a spell or a curse and there would be nothing that could steer him away from his goal, not even his own death. The only question remained, what was his goal exactly?

He backed away and scrambled through the living room, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. He suspected he could find some daggers or swords upstairs, but he was afraid if he’d go up, he would trap himself, this way the exit was much closer, even if a maniac was about to barge through it.

The door started to make more and more squeaky noises and he was sure there wasn’t much time left until it would fully break in.

He kneeled down in front of the sofa and reached under it.

“It’ll have to do” he mumbled as he pulled out his cue stick.

There was a big crack and thud as the door landed on the floor and he found himself opposite from a very insane looking gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up now, uhh.


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer comes to assess the damage, Ciri's just out there making assumptions and Geralt makes some meaningful revelations; in other words: a regular Thursday.

Geralt felt that something was off, the stench of magic filled the entire street as he neared in the office, not to mention his medallion, which was going insane on his chest. He doubled his steps and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the office’s dark glass door on the floor, shattered into pieces. He practically ran upstairs where he found his flat’s entrance in much the same state. He carefully pulled a sword from his back and silently passed through the hall and halted in the living room.

“Jaskier.” He breathed and after the initial shock he exhaled in relief.

Well he was relieved because Jaskier was seemingly in one piece, unlike the intruder who had been technically pinned on the wall through his throat by Jaskier’s unreasonably sharp cue stick. He was standing a few feet away wheezing, Geralt could hear as his heart throbbed against his ribcage aggressively. Based on the smoke and the mess his living room has turned into, there must have been quite a fight.

“Geralt!” He greeted him, still panting. There was ash powdered over his entire face, giving him pitch-black freckles and there was a thin cut on his right cheek. One sleeve of his red shirt hung on his arm in bloody tatters and the other seemed to have been burned, but his injuries all looked superficial. “The next time you order a crazy ass sorcerer, can you tell me? So, you know, I could take a walk in the city or just go visit a friend. You know, just generally _not be here_.” The slight shake of his voice took away from the edge of his tone, but his expression stayed pretty serious.

“A walk in the city at this time would be just as dangerous and you don’t have friends.” He said offhandedly as he walked over to the new decoration on his wall. He pulled the stick out with a sticky sound and the body dropped down on the floor.

“Wha- how dare y-?” Jaskier gasped offended, but Geralt just ignored him. He leaned down and examined the body, he recognised the robe, it belonged to the order of the White Flame, he had a couple of contracts against beasts that Fringilla set on the city. She was a sorceress, who was causing more and more trouble around the city, not to mention that she tried to kill the Mayor a few times, by sending him poison and exploding parcels. She did not follow any laws or rules and even the thought of a possible battle with her twisted his stomach into a knot, because Geralt knew it too well that he didn’t stand a chance against her forbidden magic.

The Brotherhood wasn’t agreeing with her either, but they liked to keep themselves away from the fire and stay neutral, or what they called neutral anyways. On the other hand the contracted sorcerers and witches were pretty much full of Fringilla’s bullshit, so was Geralt at this moment.

“and I’ll have you know I do have friends, there’s you and Ciri and-“ Jaskier was apparently still rambling, so Geralt grunted at him and he stopped abruptly.

“I take you don’t know him.” He pointed at the body on the floor with his thumb, Jaskier shook his head. “He was one of Fringilla’s pawns.”

“Fringilla? You mean that horrible witch who sent those threats to the Mayor? The one with all the” here he made a wriggly motion with all of his fingers, “you know, forbidden magic and tons of extremely dangerous creatures set loose?”

“The very one.” He nodded darkly.

“But what does she have to do with you? Did she send this guy to kill you or Ciri? I mean she couldn’t have thought it would work.” He looked at the corpse on the floor meaningfully.

“I don’t think she sent him to kill me.” Geralt said slowly looking at the blood bedded under Jaskier’s nails, matching the scratch marks on the man’s forearms.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he was here for something and you were in his way. Or it was a warning.”

“Warning? For what? Geralt come on, you know I can’t read minds!” He spread his arms exasperatedly.

“I’m not sure. I have to contact Yennefer, maybe she can find out more through the Brotherhood.”

They were standing in the living room, which was pretty much destroyed, stinking of magic, blood and fire mixed all together with Jaskier’s cologne and sweat. They didn’t talk for a minute, taking in the little information they had at their hands, then Jaskier spoke slow and quiet.

“Do you think she’s the one who told about me in the office?”

*

Yennefer assessed the scene, checking the body physically and magically as well. She stood over it with her hands on her hips, while Jaskier drank his coffee, sitting on the sofa’s still intact side (an explosion took off much of the other half) and Geralt just stood beside her.

Jaskier hasn’t actually seen her since the fight between her and Geralt and to his dismay she looked just as gorgeous as usual. He wasn’t sure what sort of relationship they had now, after the breakup, if she came for the first text she got from Geralt. Maybe they were back on track, just like they used to, Jaskier thought, after all he didn’t actually asked about her since he and Geralt were talking again. It was best not to dwell on it, he decided, but it was easier said than done.

She spoke at last.

“You were right,” she turned towards Jaskier, “he was definitely under a spell, Fringilla likes to keep her minions under control, even if she says they all believe in the ‘shared sacrifice’, it’s all bullshit. Although I don’t know what was his goal. I’m gonna talk to my contacts at the Brotherhood, maybe they know something about this. I’ll get back to you later.”

Geralt nodded and it seemed they both deemed the conversation over, as Yennefer opened a portal and walked past through it, disappearing to, well somewhere.

“Well, my night is ruined.” Jaskier announced bitterly.

“So is mine, it seems.” Came the voice from the door. Ciri stood there much in the same position Geralt has been about forty minutes ago, with a pulled-out sword and a confused expression.

Jaskier’s face lit up for her presence and as she put her sword away, he put his hand on her shoulder.

“I made lasagne.” He offered kindly and Ciri just smiled at him.

They told her everything that she missed, over dinner. Well Jaskier did, while Geralt just grunted along and added a ‘hm’ here and there.

“The only thing I don’t understand” he started, pointing forwards with his fork at nothing in particular, “why does she want to come after you. I mean sure, you’re witchers and all, but doesn’t she have more business with the sorcerers?” He pulled the fork into his mouth, still empty, just to suck on it while thinking.

“I had a few contracts a couple of months ago, the Mayor is very pissed at her. He’d sign with anyone to get rid of her.” Geralt said with a shrug, stuffing some of his lasagne into his mouth. “Besides she’s got it out for elves and mutants.”

Jaskier put his fork down and stared into his plate intently. Ciri put her hand on his arm gently, right over the bandages.

“I’m sure everything’s gonna be alright.” She smiled softly and somehow it really calmed Jaskier down just a little. “I heard that there are some big plans in motion to restrain her and her minions for good. That must be the reason she’s getting antsy; she knows it’s over for her.”

“Maybe.” Geralt said as he got up from the table, Jaskier followed him with his eyes as he walked over to the sink and put his plate into it. “We’ll know more when Yen’s back.”

Ciri looked thoughtful for a second, furrowing her light eyebrows before she finally asked: “What about the doors? And the furniture?”

“I already texted Dara, they’ll be here in the morning.” Geralt said easily.

Dara was Geralt’s contact at the cleaning brigade. Well, to be entirely fair he was Ciri’s friend, but it came pretty handy most of the times. He was also the only elf Jaskier knew, who was in a leading position at his job.

“Hey guys, I just realised this is the first time we had dinner together, all the three of us!” Ciri piped up with a smile, before she stuffed a forkful of lasagne into her mouth.

“You know what they say about homicidal minions,” Jaskier said while collecting dirty plates and utensils from the worktop, “they bring families together!” He finished with a playful smile and it made Ciri drop some food from her mouth with a chuckle.

Geralt looked over them. This is what they were, wasn’t it? A family. For a decade now he told Jaskier over and over; they weren’t friends and tried to believe it himself, he just didn’t consider this option before.

“Who’s up for some more coffee?” Jaskier asked, as he stretched and yawned, completely unaware of how everything has changed in Geralt’s life while nothing really changed at all.

*

A few hours later Dara did come with six of his men and turned the impossible mess in their living room into a spotless place. Of course they had to throw away the sofa and the coffee table and the reading lamp, and really pretty much everything. On the bright side they fixed the office’s door and the flat’s door as well, including a small spell to make them harder to break.

Jaskier watched as Geralt said bye to Dara, who assured him that they’ll see each other in a matter of days, then he turned to Ciri and had a rather light-hearted conversation, which only turned serious by the end.

“Take care of yourself.” Dara whispered to Ciri and squeezed the witcher’s shoulder.

“I will, if you will.” She said softly with a small smile and hugged him.

Ciri and Jaskier took care of the new furniture, while Geralt went and dealt with both witchers’ tasks for the day.

When everything was set, it didn’t look much different than before, maybe the sofa was brighter than the one before, but it was the same model and Jaskier found it just as comfortable. There were no signs of what happened here last night, but it worried him just the same; a crazy witch with tons of followers to dispose conveniently at hand, having the stick out for them. _For elves and mutants_ – it rang in his ears. It was like she didn’t learn anything from the Great War.

People have fought and lost their lives, yet humans still felt superior to everyone else, which was just… infuriating, if he wanted to be honest. He told this to Geralt many times over the years, but he still couldn’t understand how the world worked. Witchers and sorcerers fought to keep humans safe, elves worked hard to hide who they were, or if not carried the burden of a heavy life. They were all much more powerful beings than humans, most of them could kill ten regular men with a snap of their fingers. Yet they were keep protecting them, and accepting their ways and let humans treat them the way they did.

“Are you okay, Jask? You’re awfully quiet.” Said Ciri as she started the kettle.

“Yes, yes of course. It’s just, you know, why does it have to come down to _this_ again? We worked so hard for years and it’s still just the same.” He gestured with his arms resentfully.

“But it’s not the same! Look, I know it’s still tough, but it’s much better than ten years ago; people are changing. Maybe it’s slow, but it’s happening.” She said all determined and it made Jaskier smile, she’d seen horrible things as a child, but she never lost hope. She was the light that always pulled Jaskier back and he was ever so grateful for that.

“I guess you’re right.” He said with a sigh and pulled some papers in front of himself. They were the contracts Geralt took while he wasn’t here, that had anything to do with Fringilla, but most of them were pretty vague, or just way too simple for it to be the cause of her outrage with Geralt. Also wouldn’t explain why she was going after Jaskier in the first place.

“Of course I’m right.” She nodded solemnly. “Here.” She passed his tea in the sky-blue mug, Jaskier’s favourite. “You know what I would like to know?”

“Mm?” He asked slowly sipping his tea.

“When are you gonna finally move upstairs from the sofa?” Jaskier coughed into his mug violently as he swallowed the hot liquid too quickly. “It’s really getting annoying after all these years…” She continued without taking any notice.

Before he could answer though, he’d been saved by the noise of the key in the lock.

*

The next morning Geralt found that despite his revelation about them being a family two days ago, Jaskier was just as annoying as ever. Right now he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a pale green shirt with flowery imprints and a fairly irritated expression.

“Oh no, you don’t think you can just leave me here” he pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Jaskier” he sighed. Technically the day hasn’t even started and yet, he already felt tired.

“I’m not staying.” He stated firmly.

Geralt grunted in response, which Jaskier seemed to be able to decode correctly as a ‘yes, you will’.

“Are you insane? Don’t you remember” he flapped his arms around violently for emphasis “what happened when you last left me here, alone?”

“If I remember correctly, you came out better from the encounter, than the intruder.” He said patiently, still hoping that he could reason his way out of this.

“Yeah, that time. There is no guarantee that Fringilla won’t send someone more competent or come here herself. I’m not staying, that’s final.”

“Why don’t you just go with Ciri?” He asked wearily as a desperate last attempt.

“She’s already left” he chirped slyly.

“Hm.”

“Come on Roach” he called the _treacherous traitor_ to himself, who came wagging her tail excitedly.

“Roach too?”

“Of course, you think she could defend herself against any of these horrible maniacs?” Jaskier asked, mumbling the end of the question to Roach, while he was stroking her face in circles, wrinkling her skin.

“Fine.” He gave in finally, but mainly because he trusted Jaskier with Roach’s safety and she didn’t like to stay home alone anyways.

“Just so you know, you’re not much safer with me. If Fringilla comes for us, we are dust without backup.” Geralt told him as they made their way down the stairs.

“Eh, bollocks, you’ll figure something out.” He threw it back over his shoulder nonchalantly.

And here it was again, that limitless belief in him to keep Jaskier safe, the unwavering confidence. But this time Geralt could do his absolute best and it possibly wouldn’t compute for anything.

*

They’ve spent nearly a week like this, Jaskier always tailing one of the witchers, until finally Yennefer appeared in their kitchen one morning, without any sort of warning, making Jaskier spill his coffee all over his navy blue shirt and swear loudly.

“Oh good morning to you too Yennefer, yes I am splendid, oh this little stain? Don’t worry about it, it has nothing to do with your abrupt appearance out of nowhere” he started to ramble and deliberately ignored the amusement on Ciri’s face.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer smiled at him smugly.

“ _Jaskier_ ” he mocked with a high-pitched voice, as he started to wash the coffee off of his shirt with the dish sponge and Ciri started to actually giggle, which he didn’t know if he should be happy or angry for.

“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood.” Yennefer said darkly. “That’s about to change.”

“Did you find out anything?” Geralt asked, making his way over from the living room and stopping under the archway. He was just oiling his swords and he still held one of them alongside with a rag in his hand.

“A few things actually” she nodded. “It wasn’t a standalone case, there have been a couple of other people being followed and attacked in the city, most of them were far worse off than you” she nodded towards Jaskier.

“But why is she doing this in the first place?” Ciri asked looking at Yennefer and Geralt in turn.

“She was the mage of the South during the war and when they’ve lost she disappeared for years. But now she’s back and it seems she wants to start over with a different initiative.” Yennefer said as she gracefully took her place on one of the barstools. “You see, now she doesn’t care about North and South, instead she keeps talking about a new cleansing.” She pursed her lips in distaste.

Jaskier dropped his sponge, but everyone else seemed to ignore him and she continued.

“She wants to get rid of everyone who’s got an ounce of elven or dwarf blood in their veins.”

Geralt grunted and Jaskier knew exactly what he must be thinking right now; everyone in this kitchen fell into that category.

“And mutants too, apparently.” She added offhandedly, looking at Geralt.

They told her everything about the intruder and the fight, but not about Jaskier’s job, she was probably still under the impression that the break-in was solely about the witchers and Jaskier was just part of some inconvenient circumstances. No one corrected her.

Ciri smashed her fist down on the worktop, making the delicate glasses rattle and clink.

“So what? We just let her run around killing people? What about the Brotherhood, are they not going to do anything?” She asked with rising anger visible on her face.

“They are all cowards.” Yennefer said with disgust. “But they actually just passed an official request for permission to raise a magical barrier over the city, which would make it impossible to conjure magic that uses a living creature for its source.”

“Can they do that?” Asked Jaskier, his wet shirt and sponge long forgotten.

Yennefer nodded. “It would be a great disadvantage for Fringilla, but it won’t stop her. Not to mention it will take days to complete the enchantment.”

“What are we going to do until then?” Ciri asked eagerly.

“Nothing.” Geralt answered grumpily and she clenched her jaw tensely. “No one hired us for it. We have contracts that _pay_ , so we deal with them and stay out of this.”

“We can’t just stay out of it! Jaskier has been attacked, he almost died, Geralt!” Ciri swung her arm in Jaskier’s direction to make her point. The cut on his face still stung and he still had his bandages on both of his forearms.

“You gravely misjudge that fight.” He said calmly, clearly feeling like he won the argument.

“I think Ciri might be right this time, Geralt.” Yennefer told him and it looked like she would still rather take Geralt’s side, if only she could. “I don’t think you can stay out of this. You are already elbow deep.”

There was silence slowly sitting down on them, Geralt was obviously thinking about how to get out of this mess and Ciri seemed just plain angry.

Jaskier on the other hand, felt entirely numb. There were horrible images chasing each other in his mind and breathing started to feel a heavier task by the minute.

He was only six when the war started, for years the news of the armies marching towards the North seemed like distant rumours, nightmarish fairy tales they used to scare the children inside before the dark. Then one day Jaskier has been woken in the middle of the night by his mother, he still remembered her long golden-brown hair and bright eyes, alongside with her pointed ears and bruised skin. She told him to go to his uncle, who lived on the next street, he was a man with a kind smile and a rather mean cane. He watched as his mother and father had put on their shiny armours and left to fight against the South. His mother kissed him on the cheek and they both disappeared into the dark; he watched the moonlight play on their backs before they’ve turned down the road. All the three of them knew that they were walking into their deaths and yet they went. Jaskier was angry for so long, thinking what if they would have just left and hid somewhere, waiting for the war to end, maybe then they would be both alive today. But then he realised that they were heroes, they fought as long as they could to keep him and people they’ve never even met safe. They were selfless and if he could do anything to honour them was to do everything in his power to help the people weaker than him and to help other heroes do their jobs.

To think that other elves and dwarfs and their kin would be on the edge of death just because some insane bitch thought they _needed_ a new cleansing. He wasn’t there at the first one, but knew the death toll was more than enough for him not to want an encore.

He was physically shaking and he felt nauseous, but everything halted for a moment, when his gaze met Geralt’s.

“What do you suggest then?” He asked Yennefer, but didn’t take his eyes off of Jaskier.

“Stay alert and stay back. I call on you, if we need your help.”

“We?” Geralt asked incredulously.

“I have some old friends in the Brotherhood and we could use all the help we could get, so do they. It’s a temporary truce really.” She said easily and Geralt grunted.

“So you want us to wait and then jump when you whistle?” He asked gruffly.

“Yes.” Yennefer was nothing short of snapping at him. “Or you’re just going to sit and wait, letting everyone else fight your battles. But I know you better, than to think that’s what you want.”

“Hm.”

“Just as I thought,” she nodded, “I’ll tell you if I find out more. Contact me if there’s another attack.” She said finally and with a circular movement of her arm she conjured a portal, she breathed a quick kiss on Ciri’s cheek and then she was gone. She left only the big wet stain on Jaskier’s shirt and a heavily stuffed air behind, to signal that she’d been there at all.


	5. The battle of Novigrad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fringilla wreaks havoc and despite Geralt's better judgement, he lets Jaskier tag along. Chaos ensues.

Yennefer entered the room and it was filled with so much fume, it made her sight near useless and her breathing heavy. The smoke smelled strongly of sage and thyme and she knew _exactly_ that it was nothing, but show.

“Always one for dramatics, are you?” She asked blankly as she walked inside, looking around lazily, trying to pick out details in the room. She hasn’t stepped foot in Aretuza for years, yet from what she could see the place hasn’t changed much over time.

“Yennefer.” Tissaia emerged from the fog, only a few feet away from her and to her credit she actually looked pleased to see her.

“Tell me, are you including me just to torture me? Again.” Yennefer asked slowly with slight amusement to her voice. To be fair, she was the one who asked to be included, but Tissaia was way too quick on her feet to say yes, almost suspiciously.

“I don’t recall ever torturing you, if you’ve found my methods too harsh, you showed that plenty in your youth.” She gestured for her to sit down, which she completely ignored.

“Hm. I’m not sure if you’re calling me rebellious or old.”

“Well you did leave the Brotherhood with quite a performance, I must say. They still don’t trust you.” Tissaia said as she took her place on a plush looking, if worn-out sofa.

“They shouldn’t,” she nodded approvingly. “But this isn’t about trust, it’s about the common enemy. What are their plans?” She leaned on the back of the chair she’d been offered with both arms.

“They already started to work on the magical shield.” When it was clear she’s not going to add anything else, Yennefer tutted impatiently.

“They think that’s enough? It’s true that Fringilla heavily relies on forbidden magic, but she’s nearly as strong without it. I remember her, from before. She’ll still pose a great threat to the city.”

For a long moment Tissaia didn’t say anything, but her face clearly showed her agreement.

“They’re arrogant enough to think that it’ll make her an equal opponent, if she only uses magic they approve of. The Chapter nearly didn’t vote for this either, they consider Fringilla Novigrad’s problem solely.” She explained with so much practise, Yennefer assumed she had this conversation with many fellow sorcerers.

“She wants to start a new cleansing!” She tapped the chair forcefully, almost tipping it over. “Don’t they understand what she’s actually doing? She wants a new war, on her own terms. She won’t stop at Novigrad.”

“Yes, it is fairly likely. That is why I gathered as many people I could to fight her. But we must wait until the shield is up, without that our powers might not be enough against her and her minions.” Yennefer wondered just how many people was she talking about. “We should be able to defeat her, if we fight only four days from now.”

“And you think she’ll just stand aside and wait until it’s convenient for us?” She asked mockingly.

“No. But she won’t be able to stop the process, there are powerful people protecting the workings and she wouldn’t step up openly against the Brotherhood. On the other hand, I’m sure she won’t be sitting on her hands either. You and your witcher friend must keep an eye out in the city. She’ll try to impact as much damage as possible, many civilian lives have already been sacrificed to her cruelty and her beasts, we have to try to minimise the number of casualties as much as we can.”

“Casualties… nice way of saying death count.” Yennefer snorted in disgust. “If that’s all” she added as she turned to leave.

“Does your witcher know just how involved are you in this?” She didn’t have to turn back to know that Tissaia was wearing one of her know-it-all expressions. She grunted lowly.

“He’s not _my_ witcher” was all she said, before she left.

*

Everything was quiet for two days. Way too quiet.

They had literally no calls about new contracts and Jaskier spent his time with complaining about being bored for whoever was around, but for the better part of the day, he was left alone with his thoughts. And that was much worse than being just bored.

He never really thought about his elven blood much, it was just a part of him that he didn’t talk about. But ever since he’d been sent away from his job, there wasn’t much else to think about. He was born decades after the great cleansing, but he remembered the looks everyone gave to him and his mother, when he was a child. He was terrified to live in a world like that again.

No one actually knew how the Great War has started, but the widely accepted tale was this: Even after the great cleansing has ended, people were still not so keen on elves and there were groups that especially looked for any survivors, to finish the job. Self-righteous men, who thought they were doing a service for the people. One day a group from the South ventured into a town on the North and killed several elves, but in the fight many humans have fallen, including children.

From there it just snowballed; more and more cities were involved in the fight, until the South has started to take in territories. First it was Marnadal, then came Cintra, Sodden and Temeria, then finally Redania. It lasted for six years and by the end of it no one knew why they were fighting anymore. The South has eventually fallen, despite everything, thanks to their recklessness and bloodthirst; they lost the last of their troops and left without protection that could stop the North from taking back their territory and just marching in and claim the grounds of the South too.

The North has merged the kingdoms together, uniting the Continent, but even today, everyone knew where the borders started and where they ended. People didn’t forget nor forgive easily and it seemed there were still some of them who thought the best way of avoiding war, was genocide. Fringilla being one of them, but Jaskier couldn’t help but worry, even if they defeat her, won’t there be someone new to try and start it over?

In the early afternoon Geralt received a text and Jaskier knew something was wrong; his expression became dark, his shoulder tensed and he clenched his jaw hard enough for that little bulge of a bone-end to be visible, that normally Jaskier found very attractive.

He peeked over his shoulder, to see the text and all it said was: _Corner of the Viesza and Gilburg._

“Ciri’s in Kalisz Garden, that’s like a street from there. Is she alright?” He asked anxiously and he couldn’t decipher the look on Geralt’s face, which made him feel even more worried.

“It’s Fringilla.” Geralt grunted through gritted teeth.

Before Jaskier could even say anything to that, he was already adjusting his swords on his back and made his way to the door.

“Are we gonna go there?” Jaskier caught up to him in two steps.

“ _We_ are going nowhere. I am going to deal with this and _you're_ going to stay put.” He poked him in the chest with his index finger.

“No, absolutely not. I’m coming with you.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, batting away his hand.

“Jaskier, it’s not a common kikimora attack, this is much more dangerous. Especially for you, you’re just going to hold us back.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just gonna stay out of your way.” He stood his ground, but Geralt didn’t seem to care for any argument.

“Hm.”

Jaskier clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Geralt. Please, you can’t leave me here, to just sit around and _wait_ for you to come back safe? What if you won’t?” Jaskier grabbed desperately at Geralt’s chest plates. He simply couldn’t deal with waiting and waiting until someone delivered the news, that one or both of the witchers were dead, even the thought made him feel dizzy.

There was a long moment of silence between them, all that Jaskier could hear was his own ragged breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. _He can’t say no, he just can’t._

“Fine. But you can’t go there without a weapon, take this” he said and he bent down to pull a dagger out of his boot and handed it to Jaskier. “And if you get in my way, pray that she kills you before I get to you.”

*

Jaskier would much rather prefer to take his car, but he was afraid if he raised any concerns, Geralt would change his mind. He didn’t hate to ride the witcher’s motorbike, per se, but it required _proximity_. He technically draped himself over Geralt’s back, crossing his arms over his abs, tightly. This way he could feel his heartbeat vibrating through his own chest and he hoped he was wrong, when he felt it being faster than usual.

Geralt didn’t bother parking the bike on the side of the road, just left it right where they dismounted it and walked away, already taking one of his potions. Jaskier put their helmets into the seat compartment with care, before jogging after the witcher, not like it mattered at all, in the sort of mayhem they were arriving into.

There were cars and billboards on fire, the concrete of the road turned out of the ground, broken into large chunks, lampposts bent from left to right, the few civilian who left around running for their lives, while many sorcerers that Jaskier knew – and many more he didn’t – stood nearby, already covered in dust and some of them sporting smaller or larger injuries. In the middle of all of this commotion stood Fringilla, looking as powerful as ever and just as insane. They've obviously already missed some of the battle; the sorceress’ eyes were entirely black and a wind that seemed to be coming from nowhere was whirling all around her, Jaskier couldn't quite explain what exactly he was seeing right now, so he was looking at Geralt for help, but he seemed just as lost. He took out the dagger Geralt gave him and looked at it in thought. A tool was just a tool as long as it didn’t touch blood, then it became a weapon.

After a minute, they spotted Ciri and Yennefer not too far and made their way over to them.

“What’s going on? What is she doing?” asked Jaskier when they were in hearing distance.

Yennefer opened her mouth to answer, but it seemed unnecessary, as the minions around Fringilla started to look like prunes, then they simply turned to dust. She was collecting their power for herself.

“Oh, this is bad, this is bad” Jaskier said, laying heavily on the last vowel. “May I suggest running away? You know, I heard the weather in Cintra is gorgeous this time of the year.” He suggested only half-jokingly, but Geralt shot him down with a gruff “no”.

Suddenly there was no place for jokes anymore, as Fringilla absorbed the last bit of energy, levitating over the ground and sent out her minions– at least the ones she didn’t turn into dust yet –, they were marching towards them and some of them used actual arrows and swords, but most of them were using magic. 

Yennefer conjured some sort of shield in front of herself and Ciri, while Geralt cast a quen and Jaskier tried to hide behind him to avoid any sort of deathly spells and pointy arrows.

Jaskier looked to his side wide-eyed when a body swished by and then stopped, unmoving on the ground. He couldn’t look away from his face, his eyes were completely lifeless. He’d seen death before, he even killed before (although only in self-defence), but this was different. It wasn’t someone under a curse, someone who wanted to hurt him or his friends. This was a person who wanted to help, someone who wanted order in the world, someone who fought for all the people who couldn’t and he died. He was a hero, just like his parents and now he was just as dead as them.

“Jaskier.”

He lifted his head in a daze and met his reflection in a pair of ink-black eyes.

“Don’t get lost in this.”

He nodded shakily and gripped his dagger even tighter, sincerely hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it.

The next ten minutes passed with loud rambles and screams, with the smell of smoke and burned skin; Jaskier remembered this well. Lettenhove was one of the last cities where the South has broken in before its fall, but they reached it nonetheless. His uncle made him hide in the basement, but the noises and the smell creeped down with him, clinging to his skin for weeks after.

There was a wave of minions getting dangerously close to them and Jaskier tried to focus and _not get lost in it_.

“Cover your ears!” Ciri shouted and barely giving them enough time to do just that, she started to scream and even though Jaskier covered his ears as requested, he still had to wince for the power of her voice. When he opened his eyes, he saw Fringilla sending a colourful beam towards Ciri and everything suddenly slowed down to a standstill. He knew that Ciri won’t stop her attack, no matter what. He also knew that he was the closest person to her right now and seemingly no one had a free hand to do anything about it.

Suddenly time accelerated back to normal.

He didn’t think, just jumped in front of her in an instant and the power of the spell made him fall and slide a few feet on the ground. He felt as the concrete scraped his skin up through his clothes and then everything went black, as he hit his head in the edge of the pavement.

“Dammit.” Geralt cursed loudly. Yennefer took a look at the limp body of Jaskier and then she looked at the witcher.

“Get him out of here!”

“Yen-“

“Now!” She shouted, her arms and fingers stretched out wide, keeping back as much damage as she could, behind her other sorcerers and sorceresses were keep shooting spells against Fringilla who seemed to take them badly, but nowhere near deadly.

He nodded and ran over to where Jaskier laid on the ground, in an abstract position. Geralt gathered him up carefully; he was heavier than he looked, but that wasn’t his problem at all, rather the fact Jaskier’s body was terrifyingly limp, he could still feel his heartbeat, but it was weak. He carried him over to a doorway, leaning him against the wall.

He took a moment just to look at him; he was still wearing bandages on one of his forearms, under his rolled up sleeve and there were bruises and small scratches all over his face, his bottom lip was cracked and there was slowly drying blood in the corner of his mouth. At this moment he looked incredibly fragile.

Geralt swept away his hair from his forehead, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand, before he stood up.

Jaskier better survived this or so gods help him, he’ll bring him back just to kill him with his own two hands.

He ran back to the others with his sword unsheathed. He was furious.

Ciri screamed again and it gave him the opportunity to cut through a generous number of the enemy, who’d been distracted by the blood coming from their ears.

“We’ll deal with them, get Fringilla!” He shouted back to Yennefer and she seemed to hesitate, but then she nodded, after all she should know just as well as Geralt, that the witchers had no chance to take this up with the sorceress, on the other hand slicing through her followers was up in their alley.

Geralt focused his attention solely on the bodies in front of him, he distantly noted a piercing pain in his shoulder, but his potion dulled the pain significantly. He grabbed the arrow instinctively and ripped it out of his flesh and never stopped moving his sword.

Suddenly he heard an unearthly sound, resonating through his mind, rather than his ears.

_It is all for the greater good, you shall see soon for yourselves._

Geralt went blind with rage, he wanted to kill all of them right here and now, he distantly registered the blood splashing in his face and the ground rumbling under his feet, but he just carried on as long as there were bodies around him, he’ll be able to channel this rage.

Greater good, lesser evil. These people never learn, do they?

He wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but suddenly there was a horrible scream coming from the centre of the commotion; a very real voice mixed with the unearthly resonance from before. They’ve got her.

He turned around to see all the sorcerers in the front, aiming at Fringilla and casting spells at the same time. The overwhelming power and possibly the very different spells clashing together were tearing her apart, from the inside.

He could hear the scream long after Fringilla was gone, echoing in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really need that part in Aretuza? Yeah, maybe for plot reasons... Did I totally write it because I love Yennefer and I need her in my life every day and forever? Definitely.


	6. Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns some new information about Yennefer. The witcher is terrified to lose Jaskier, showing it in his own way, by lashing out.

They all returned to the apartment in a tow, all battered and drained. Geralt carried Jaskier in his arms, adamant about not letting anyone else touch him. His head was full of the echoes of the battle and many thoughts that really shouldn’t be there just now. Geralt could feel his heartbeat, it was off-rhythm and his breathing laboured.

He laid Jaskier’s body down on the sofa, with careful movements and watched as his head lolled to the side in his unconsciousness. He stepped back with a clenched jaw to give space to the sorceress.

Yennefer stood over him and spread her arms, to size up the damage; she was no healer, but she knew one or two things about curse breaking. The witchers waited beside her, with anticipation. Geralt knew that she was at the end of her limits, the shaking of her fingers and sweating of her forehead made that clear. But all the other sorcerers were busy cleaning up Fringilla’s followers and healing their own. There was no one else who could tend to Jaskier just yet.

Jaskier was one of the most dangerous people Geralt has ever met. And that said something. But his power wasn’t in his physical strength or magical power – or lack thereof –, but in his complete dismissal of danger. He went in headfirst and didn’t think of consequences, which made him reckless and fearless at the same time. He didn’t consider Jaskier a bad person, but he never blinked twice over the death of people who tried to harm him or people he cared about.

His colourful shirts and wide smiles hid a feral beast from common sight, which he used for his advantage. People underestimated him many times and eventually they all regretted it one way or another, as the example of the intruder showed.

But all in all, he scared Geralt in a very different way, because right now he was terrified to lose him. And it made focusing hard; he was worried, angry and desperate for him to be alright.

And anyone who could have an effect like that on a witcher was dangerous.

After long minutes Yennefer finally looked up.

“He’ll be fine, it was just a silencing spell. The head injury isn’t that serious and all of his organs are on the right place – well, for him anyways.” She said and turned away from Jaskier’s body, to shoot a piercing glace towards the two witchers, but really mainly Geralt. “And just when did you want to mention that he’s got elven blood in him?” She snapped at him.

“It didn’t come up.” He grunted out. Of course the real reason was that although he trusted Yennefer, he didn’t trust that Fringilla wouldn’t do anything to pick at her brain if it came to that, it was just simply safer for him, if less people knew.

“What about you? When are you gonna tell me why are doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Getting involved. Normally you’d be out of Novigrad weeks before they even put up the shield.” Honestly, he half-expected her to flee when she found out about the first attack.

“I had a feeling she’d come after me.” She grimaced and Geralt saw Ciri from his peripherals, as she snapped her head back and forth between them, confused.

He didn’t except her to get on his side, but at least he wished she’d leave. She had to witness many of their fights, when they were together and although he still loved Yennefer in a way and wanted her in his life, their personalities did not change after the djinn’s spell has been undone. They were both head-strong and stubborn and it caused them to fight now and again. Ciri wasn’t a child, but Geralt knew that she found a mother figure in Yennefer and he was really grateful for that, but he was afraid that watching them argue eventually ruin Ciri’s relationship with either him, either Yennefer.

“Why?”

“We graduated together.”

“You didn’t graduate.” He put it blankly, but what he really meant was ‘elaborate’.

“Not in a traditional way, but after my transformation, I took her place in Aedirn. She ended up in Nilfgaard because of me. That was long before I’ve became independent from the Brotherhood. Before the war.”

“So what? You thought, this was all your fault?” It was no secret that throughout the war, Fringilla personally caused nearly as much damage as the army itself, getting a thirst for power herself. So it was safe to assume that she wouldn’t have provoked a fight now, if she wouldn’t have participated in the war, which wouldn’t have happened, if Yennefer took Nilfgaard in the first place.

Of course, she could have easily become a maniac on the winner’s side as well.

“No. She went crazy all by herself. The Chapter decided to put me in Nilfgaard because of my elven blood, but Tissaia wanted me in Aedirn. I just executed the original plans. Apparently she wasn’t happy about that.” She pursed her lips together and blew some air through her nostrils.

“Apparently.”

“It probably didn’t help with her elf-phobia.” Yennefer added thoughtfully. “She probably would go after Jaskier anyways, but you having a tie to me probably just made it worse.” She added more quietly and Geralt could tell that under the stony exterior she put up, she actually felt bad, so he didn’t say anything and Yennefer wheeled the topic back to its starting point.

“Give him two drops of this hourly, for six hours.” She took out a small phial from a tiny pouch on her belt and handed it to him. “It’ll help him through the night and he should be good as new by tomorrow.”

Geralt uncorked the phial and smelled it, the strong scents of herbs and spices filled his nose. “Or it’ll put him into a coma.”

Yennefer grimaced at him, probably thinking him ungrateful. “He’ll be fine.”

Geralt shook his head, he knew that Jaskier’s special biology made him much more sensitive to any sort of potions or poisons and basically anything he could digest in general. These drops might just slow down his heartbeat, but they might even stop it all together. He couldn’t risk that.

“He can’t handle calming herbs. This is too concentrated.” He said, taking another whiff of the little phial, before he corked it back. “Give him something else.” He demanded and pushed the tiny bottle back into her hand.

“I can’t” she shook her head. “There is another option though, but he won’t like that.”

*

When Jaskier came around, it was dark and his head hurt like it was splitting in two, but he supposed it was still better than being dead, which by the way, he thought could be the case.

He tried to sit up, but a large hand on his chest pushed him back down.

“Slow” said a gruff voice and he could pick out a pair or golden eyes in the darkness, but not much else.

He tried to sit up this time slower and Geralt didn’t stop him, instead he switched on the reading lamp on the coffee table. Now, with a bit more light, Jaskier could clearly see that the witcher didn’t look particularly happy to see him in one piece. He sat in the chair opposite him; his arms crossed, frowning. Definitely not a good start.

He wanted to ask him if Ciri was okay, but there was no sound coming out of his throat. He was saying the words, but nothing. He tried again and again, for no success whatsoever. Panic started to creep up on him quickly, but Geralt just sighed wearily.

“You’ve been hit with a silencing spell.” Jaskier looked at him wide-eyed. He allowed himself almost a full minute of shock, before he scrambled around to find a notebook and a pen under the table, when he got it, he just quickly wrote ‘Ciri?’ and looked at Geralt.

“She’s fine.”

Jaskier let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and sagged against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment.

He wanted to ask a lot of questions right know, but it would take way too long to write all of them down, so he had to prioritise. So he took the notebook again, feeling Geralt’s eyes on himself and wrote ‘Yennefer? Fringilla?’ and showed it to Geralt.

“Yen is fine. There have been many injured, but only a handful of dead. Fringilla’s one of them.” He gritted out with a clenched jaw and Jaskier could tell something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“Which is a miracle, I can’t say about you!” Geralt raised his voice and it made Jaskier push his back into the sofa, trying to become one with the furniture. “You could have died, you had no fucking idea what she was doing. You could just push Ciri away, but no. You had to jump in front of her and what were you thinking anyways? Let me guess, you didn’t. It was incredibly stupid, even by your standards. You wanted to play the hero or what? You should have stayed home as I told you so. And how is this ‘staying out of my way’, huh?” Geralt was properly yelling at him at this point and it really didn’t help his headache any. Jaskier never heard him say so many words in such a short time and under any other circumstances, he would be delighted, but now all he felt was guilt.

He scribbled down a ‘sorry’, but Geralt didn’t even look at it, just left him with a gruff “Go back to sleep”.

*

_The door landed on the floor with a harsh thud and he swallowed. He thought about a lot of things at once; first that this was absolutely not a situation he can handle, no way in hell he could survive this, then he thought about the two witchers, simultaneously hoping that any of them will show up in the next minute and being glad that they weren’t here, because he just didn’t know how dangerous this maniac was. At last he remembered, what Geralt had told him ten years ago, about being killed in Novigrad. It seemed he’s going to be right eventually._

_A beam of fire swished past him and he returned to reality._

_“Right, yeah. Mortal danger” he mumbled to himself._

_The man stretched one of his arms towards him and knowing what was coming, he jumped on the side, trying to hide behind the sofa, but then the blast hit the furniture, ripping off half of the back of it, sending splinters and bits of filling everywhere in the air. He could feel something sharp touching his face, but it wasn’t his biggest problem right now. He needed to run, but there was only so many places to hide in the living room._

_He backed away as fast as he could, but his back hit the wall and he knew, he was cornered. He locked eyes with the intruder._

_“Fuck.”_

_He strode over with quickening steps and Jaskier tried to escape, but the man grabbed his left arm. His touch felt like fire on his skin and he dropped his cue stick, freeing his other hand and started to scratch on the maniac’s arms as deep as he could; he saw blood trickling down on his arm and his own fingers, but thanks to the spell he wouldn’t budge. Jaskier could feel the panic choking him up, as his gaze wandered up to the man’s eyes; the emptiness in them was more terrifying than anything._

_There wasn’t much he could do without a weapon and one hand._

_He kneeled the man into the stomach, making him fold over and loosen his grip around Jaskier’s arm enough to twist it out of his fingers. He quickly picked up his stick and ran towards the hallway, but then he felt a pull on his ankle and found himself lying on his stomach._

_He turned around as quick as he could and snapped the stick on the man’s arm harshly, then kicked him in the face. He pushed himself back in a crab walk and scrambled into a standing position a few feet over. So did the man._

_Jaskier was breathing heavily and he didn’t know what to do. He watched as the intruder spread his fingers wide, ready to conjure something painful, he was sure. He did the only thing he could think of and thrusted the stick towards him with all his strength and watched as it pierced through his throat and pinned him on the wall, lifeless._

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open and he clapped his hands onto his mouth in fear that he’d wake someone up with his scream. Then he remembered; he couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

He flopped back to the sofa. Suddenly he hated everything.

*

In the morning Yennefer came to visit, in the fashion of her habitual portaling into their kitchen, but this time Jaskier was so down on himself, he barely even jumped.

“Oh, isn’t it the silent lark?” She smiled at him blandly and he just grimaced in response. Jaskier looked her over, she looked tired and her face was covered with tiny scratches and although most of her body was covered by her dress, so he couldn’t be sure, she seemed over-all alright. He tried so hard not to like her, but he couldn’t help but _care_. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I would’ve patch you up, but your dear witcher here,” she pointed towards Geralt. “wouldn’t let me.”

Jaskier flipped his gaze to Geralt questioningly. The witcher was leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping coffee from a pink, flamingo shaped mug.

“It was too dangerous.” He simply said, lifting his mug away from his face and Jaskier thought, he could detect a touch of guilt in his expression. But it didn’t change much.

He spread his arms; short on his voice, he tried to convey his message with his face. He didn’t care how dangerous it was, he couldn’t just stay mute for the rest of his life.

Geralt frowned at him. “Absolutely not. And that’s the end of it.” He put down the mug on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

Jaskier looked around, hoping that someone would stand on his side, but there was no one. Yennefer sighed.

“There is another cure. But it has to be done on the night of the full moon.” Jaskier looked at her, trying to remember when was the last full moon and calculate how many days it meant, when Yennefer added with a sugary smile: “Also it’s extremely painful.”

As it turned out, the next full moon was in twenty-six days. Twenty. Six. Days.

In silence.

Jaskier was sulking all day, even though there wasn’t really anyone to see it, but Roach, who apparently did not care for it much and rather slept in her bed, than to hang around.

The worst part was – besides the obvious – that for nearly a month he had to _stay put_. Because, as Geralt reasoned he couldn’t call for help, nor could he do many simple tasks alone, like phone calls and dealing with clients and well, singing, but the witcher didn’t seem too concerned about that.

Anyhow, he couldn’t really leave the flat without someone else by his side, but he’s also been specifically prohibited from going on any missions with the witchers, as he would be yet again, a liability who couldn’t even call for help. Even Ciri agreed with Geralt that it would be best for his own safety and after Geralt shouted him down last night, he wasn’t so keen on arguing.

So sulking was all that remained. He tried to keep himself occupied, but it was getting harder and harder. Ever since he lost his job at the Ad Company he spent most of his time setting the Firm’s paperwork right, but there wasn’t much left to do now.

Jaskier liked to keep busy. He was leading a long life and he wanted to make it interesting, mainly because he was afraid if he’d stopped, time would stand still around him. In his life there weren't many signs of the passage of time; he hasn’t visibly aged, nor had he friends in a long time, who would either. Even the thought was maddening.

He used to make a habit of making sure he would have company, when there was nothing to do; boyfriends and girlfriends came and went and he cared for them and loved them, truly, but it was always in the background; the need of being distracted, to have his mind occupied.

But now, there was scarce to turn to. He was alone and bored. And his mind started to spiral into the unending despair that was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been reading the story up until now, you might have noticed that I meddled with the chapters. I hope it didn't mess with your head, it's only to make the story more easily readable, for the comfort of everyone.


	7. Where amends and confessions are made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier go shopping and some buried memories make reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put up and extra chapter this week, to celebrate the fact that I finished two projects today and because of the re-sorting of the chapters.

Jaskier spent the next two days mainly alone, as the witchers were busy with new contracts. Thanks to the way Fringilla turned the ground inside out, the rumble made monsters swarm to the surface, out of their underground nests and many of them was lurking around in parks and playgrounds. Geralt was tending to those nearly all day, while Ciri helped as much as she could, dealt with the phone calls and clients, as well as she spent a significant amount of time with Yennefer.

The sorceress, alongside others was taking part in meetings with the mayor – led mainly by Tissaia –, on how to proceed with some of the new elements of the common opinion and laws. The thing was that the way Fringilla stood up against elflings and other races, in the light of the destruction she caused, didn't go down well in the public eye, also the way some of the sorcerers protected the city, put it in a context where they seemed more powerful and well, scary.

So now people kept it quiet if they had similar views as Fringilla, but they also looked at the contracted sorcerers with alarm. It was no secret that the mayor hadn’t exactly had anything to do with the fight, implying that he was planning on sitting on his hands while the people of Novigrad were executed. Of course it wasn’t true, but truth had little to do with public opinions. They were working out a way that would be best for everyone’s image.

So Jaskier tried to keep himself busy. He tried to compose a new epic song about the battle of Novigrad, but he got increasingly angrier when he couldn’t chase his guitar with his voice, it got to the point where he couldn’t even pluck the strings his hands were so shaky. He even dug out the toolbox from the cabinet under the sink and tried to fix the doorknob on the balcony. But he wasn’t an expert in handiwork, so he ended up with much more energy invested, than success gained. He abandoned his efforts after throwing the tools on the floor with a mouthed curse, which was followed by another out of anger for the first one that stayed silent.

Which was a real shame, because the balcony looked towards the North Sea and even though the flat wasn’t close to the beach and the docks whatsoever, it was high enough to see the waters stretching across the view.

*

On the sixth day Ciri supposed to take Jaskier to the supermarket and he was actually excited to finally leave the flat, even if just for a short time; he even put on his favourite shirt for the joyous occasion; it was a navy blue shirt with ornamental imprints and a special fabric, with tiny shimmering threads woven into it. He rarely put on this one, because the chance that it could get ruined by guts and blood was rather high on regular weekdays.

So it was more than disheartening when he got a text from Ciri.

_Sorry Jask, I can’t make it today, something came up._

He threw the phone beside himself on the sofa and tipped his head over the back of it, sighing. But after a few seconds it beeped again, signalling a second message and he felt cold all over, as he read it.

_But Geralt should be home soon, he said he’ll take you._

Ever since the day Yennefer visited them, he barely seen the older witcher and he hasn’t talked to him at all, even in those brief times. Jaskier suspected he must have been still mad at him, although he wasn’t entirely sure what for. But now they couldn’t escape talking if they were about to spend at least an hour together; so maybe there was a chance to find out.

*

It was the first time in the whole week that Geralt finished his job before nightfall. He got on his motorbike, ready to leave the day behind himself, but before he could kick in the engine his phone chirped up in his pocket. It was Ciri.

“Hey,” she started and just based on the level of the background noise, he could tell that she was still in the Mayor’s office, or in the hallway anyways.

“How is it going with the mayor?”

“Well, would be easier if his secretary wouldn’t interrupt us all the time. Yennefer got so frustrated with her, we had to take a break.”

Vizimir, the mayor was actually rather popular amongst Novigrad’s citizens up until this point, so it was in his own interest that these meetings went well. Geralt never met the man himself, but he knew his assistant very well. Philippa had the ability to piss off anyone with her constant chatter and way too sugary voice, but behind all that she was a smart, if not a very trustworthy woman.

“Yeah, she’s not very popular amongst the mages, I hear.” He smiled, just imagining Yennefer’s face; he wagered it must take all of her willpower not to curse her.

“Listen, I’m kind of stuck here for longer than I expected and I promised Jaskier that I take him shopping.”

“And you want me to take him?” He guessed and there went the early finish, right out the window.

“Please?”

Geralt grunted into the phone and he could practically hear Ciri smiling on the other end.

“You could try to go a little easier on him, you know.”

“He lost his voice, which he _will_ get back, it’s not like he’s dying.”

“Okay.” She said slowly. “Then I’ll say it this way; try to put yourself in his place. First he lost his job, then someone attacked him,” Ciri somehow knew he wanted to say something to that, so she cut in with a slightly raised voice. “ _I know_ he came out better of it. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t know that’ll happen, when the man broke in. Then came Fringilla with her whole new cleansing thing and you might have forgotten that although Jaskier wasn’t alive during the great cleansing, he _was_ during the war and maybe you don’t understand it, because you were neutral, but he wasn’t. And now he can’t even talk. All I’m saying is; he’d been through a lot lately. Just, try to be a little more understanding with him, okay?”

He was so used to the mess that was his life that he almost forgot, even though Jaskier was part of that mess, maybe it was becoming too much for him. He closed his eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of his nose. As Yennefer used to tell him all the time; he could be so self-involved sometimes, a house could burn down around him and he wouldn’t even notice.

“Okay” was all he said.

“Especially, if you ever want to get together with hi-” Geralt hung up, before she could finish the sentence. Cheeky brat.

*

When he stepped into the apartment, Jaskier waited for him expectantly in the living room. Geralt passed him without saying a word and made his way upstairs to get rid of his armour and change into something clean.

As he walked downstairs he found Jaskier in much the same position, except that now he was holding his notebook and pen and as he walked over to him, he held it up for Geralt to read it.

‘How long are going to punish me for?’

He looked at Jaskier confused. Punish him?

“What are you talking about?”

Jaskier quickly scribbled down his answer and he held the notebook so tightly, Geralt could see his fingers going white on the edge of it, nearly matching the colour of the paper.

‘It’s been a week.’

Jaskier probably saw it on his face that he was still at the loss of what he was getting at, so he practically scratched it into the page: ‘the cure?’

Geralt furrowed his brows for a second, then softened his expression with understanding. Jaskier thought he was holding out on the potion only to punish him.

“It’s not a punishment, I told you already; it was too dangerous.”

Jaskier looked at his feet and it seemed he might start to cry in frustration, his fingers were so tight around the notebook, he crumpled the cover.

Geralt reached out to comfort him, without even aiming anywhere, so he ended up putting his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder awkwardly.

“The potion Yennefer wanted to give you was way too concentrated.” Geralt told him calmly. “Listen, I didn’t know what hit you, out there. And neither did you. It could have been something lethal. What would be the point of killing you _now_?” He asked as tenderly as he could and Jaskier sniffled quietly, making him sigh. He wanted to make this better, but he was afraid he might have been lacking the skills to do so.

“You’ll get your voice back without a significant chance of dying” He put his thumb under Jaskier’s chin and tipped his head up, so their gaze could meet. “I promise. Just... be patient, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, making tears dropping from his eyelashes onto his cheeks and Geralt wanted to punch himself for putting this hurt expression on his face. He tentatively pulled him into a hug and put his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, trying not to think about the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he let himself hug him. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to, but he had to draw the lines. But as usual, Jaskier didn’t care about limits or rules, nesting himself deeper into his heart.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and he really was.

Geralt wasn’t really sure if he was doing this right, if it was helping at all, but Jaskier didn’t pull away, which was a good sign. They stood like that for minutes, while Jaskier angry tears soaked his shoulder and his hands clasped at his back, still holding his notebook in one of them.

Ciri was right, he’d been through a lot lately and Geralt wasn’t exactly helping with that. He decided he’ll try to be better from now on.

*

They’ve made it to the supermarket and even though the mood in the car was a little tense, Jaskier couldn’t care much, as he was finally able to leave the flat.

He parked his car in a mediocre distance from the entrance and Geralt got a trolley for them. They’ve got all the necessities first and then Jaskier started to wander around looking for stuff that he might be in the mood for in the upcoming weeks. Because if he won’t be able to leave the flat whenever he pleased, he had to be prepared for snack-emergencies.

Geralt tailed him with the trolley mostly without a word, besides the occasional warning about walking too far. Like what could happen to him in a supermarket anyways? Unless a griffin decided to burst through the cereal aisle, he had nothing to worry about.

On second thought, maybe that was an actual possibility. He hoped not, but he remained in the five feet radius of the witcher.

After putting three different kind of cereals into the trolley, he proceeded to pick a handful of chocolate bars, two bags of biscuits and some crisps, then followed by Geralt’s ever so stoic silence and incredulous looks, he picked out three different types of his favourite sport drinks; he couldn’t really describe the flavours any other way than blue, yellow and red.

Geralt lifted an eyebrow questioningly, as he picked up a bottle of blue drink to check the ingredient label.

“You can’t handle a simple potion, but _this_ you can digest?”

Jaskier just shrugged happily and walked over to the alcohol section. He reckoned on the long and lonely nights, he could appreciate some good wine.

As he was browsing between the bottles, he accidentally came across the shelf that contained the gins and tequilas. He scrunched up his face with a shiver.

“What?” Geralt asked, seemingly amused by his expression.

Jaskier took out his phone and quickly typed in the answer.

‘Gin. Couldn’t drink it in years.’

Geralt considered him for a long moment, like he was about to say something, but then he just pushed the trolley forward a few steps, looking at the selection of ales.

It was true. After a very unfortunate night, where he started with getting shitfaced on gin, then proceeded to wander around Novigrad, ending up at the Wolf Firm’s office, meeting Geralt and eventually confessing his undying love to him, then finished it by hurling out the inordinate amount of alcohol into his toilet; he could no longer as much as look at a bottle of gin.

That night was definitely not on the list of ‘the best nights of his life’, on the other hand it led the ‘most embarrassing things he’d ever done’ list.

Geralt never mentioned it ever since, so in a way it was rather lucky. Before the incident he could fool himself into thinking he had a chance time to time, unintendedly breaking his own heart, but after that his silence was a clear rejection.

They didn’t talk about it and it was like it never happened.

*

_Four years ago, two weeks before the djinn incident_

_Geralt spent the last four hours trying to deal with a particularly stubborn kikimora infestation in the outskirts of the city. At this point, all he wanted to do is take a shower and go to bed._

_But when he parked down his motorbike, there was a familiar little bulge by the door of the office._

_“For fuck’s sake” he grumbled as he took off his helmet and dismounted the bike._

_“Oh, Geralt, hi!” Jaskier cheered over-enthusiastically, still sitting on the ground. Geralt rubbed a hand over his face wearily. He could smell the alcohol coming from Jaskier’s pores from a mile away; gin to be exact._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“I’m drunk!” He announced proudly and the witcher just rolled his eyes._

_“Yes, I can see that.”_

_“Oh you’re ever so pre- per- prec- perce-, never mind.” He gave up finally and then started to scramble to his feet. Geralt watched as he first made it to all fours, then he suddenly straightened up, scrunching up his face. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that.” He said and provided emphasis with a small gag._

_Geralt grunted in response; indeed he shouldn’t have._

_“Go home, Jaskier.”_

_As soon as he said it, he realised that it was a pointless thing to say. He was clearly not well enough to make it home on his own, but if he’d put him in to a cab, knowing Jaskier the chances for him to get robbed between the car and his door was remarkably high._

_He sighed in surrender. This long night just became hell of a lot longer._

_He put his arm around Jaskier’s waist and led him towards his bike._

_“You hate to have me around when I’m sober, so I thought maybe you’d like me more when I’m drunk.” Jaskier mumbled close to his ears and Geralt hauled him onto the seat._

_“You hate me either ways, don’t you?” He whispered as Geralt put the extra helmet on his head, Jaskier was looking at him with blurry eyes and wet eyelashes and Geralt just shut the visor down on him._

_Geralt mounted the bike himself, in front of Jaskier and pulled his arms around his stomach._

_“I don’t hate you” he said simply, mainly because he didn’t think Jaskier would remember any of this tomorrow._

_“Well that’s great,” he nodded with an overlarge movement of his head, knocking their helmets together. “But not nearly great enough.”_

_“If you throw up, I’ll dump your ass off the bike, understood?” Geralt told him gruffly and then added much softer: “Hold on tight.”_

_When they arrived to Jaskier’s flat, he knew that he wasn’t nearly finished with his job to deliver Jaskier into safety._

_Geralt spent over five minutes with getting Jaskier off the bike and taking his helmet off. Just while he tried to put the helmets into the seat compartment, he had to catch Jaskier by his shirt more than once, as he was keep swaying off balance._

_They made it into the lift, Geralt holding onto Jaskier by the waist and him trying to melt into him. Jaskier was leaning on him with all his weight and his head was in the crook of Geralt’s neck; he could clearly feel his warm breath trickling over his skin and the impossibly hot body that flushed against him all the way down his side._

_The lift dinged as they arrived to the ninth floor. It took Geralt over a minute to find and confiscate Jaskier’s keys from the pocket of his trousers, before he finally opened the door._

_He’d been here before once, a few years ago, but the place didn’t change much. The walls were maroon in the living room and Jaskier’s room, while the kitchen and the bathroom walls were painted yellow, but it was all hard to notice, as most vertical surfaces were covered with posters and pictures, meaningless decorations, like papers of a candy not in production anymore, a rubber ball glued to the wall and a standalone cue stick, just above the sofa. But it wasn’t just the walls, most of the furniture was also covered in clothes and magazines, books and notes, empty bowls and mugs everywhere. He knew it wasn’t because Jaskier was messy, but because he got distracted easily; by people, work or new ideas._

_He guided Jaskier to his bedroom and he fell face forward into his bed as soon as he loosened his hold. He mumbled something incoherent, muffled by his pillows and Geralt turned him around so he wouldn't drown in his own bedsheets, although he had no doubt that the man would find that somehow poetic._

_“It’s not fair” he mumbled again, much clearer this time. Geralt wasn’t sure if the thought has been stringed to anything in particular, so he just went to the kitchen without a word and returned with an empty serving bowl and a glass of water. He put the bowl on the floor, close to the headboard and the water on the nightstand._

_He trusted that Jaskier could figure out the rest for himself._

_He turned to leave the man to rest, when he called out to him – slightly louder than it was necessary – and made him stop in his tracks._

_“Geralt, Geralt! You know I love you, right?”_

_Geralt looked at the floor, feeling like something was scratching at his ribs from the inside. He told himself that Jaskier didn’t mean it that way._

_“You love everyone.” He turned back to him._

_“No, I mean yes, but not like that. I love-love you.” He said it again and this time Geralt could pretend however he wanted, but he exactly knew what Jaskier meant._

_Geralt was still standing in the doorway, unmoving. He was sure Jaskier had no idea what he was talking about and he was way too drunk to be taken seriously. Yet, he still couldn’t move._

_“I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, but I just wanted to let you know, you know, that this is what it is.” He was talking to the ceiling now and Geralt could see some stray tears, trickling down his cheek, into his ears. Drunk humans were crying for no reason all the time, he knew that. But the thought that maybe Jaskier was actually crying because of him, made the scratching more painful._

_Geralt sighed and walked back to the bed and tucked Jaskier in just to have something to do with his hands. He felt lost and dizzy._

_“Go to sleep, Jaskier” he said softly as their eyes met and it was near impossible to look away._

_“I know it doesn’t matter... I know you don’t even like me, let alone... but I wish... I wish…”_

_Geralt watched as his eyes slowly closed and he started to mumble incoherent things, like ‘do it for the pink elephant’ and ‘jump, jump higher’, until he finally dozed off. Or so did Geralt thought._

_The next minute Jaskier jumped up more vividly than ever, nearly falling over in the end of his duvet and ignoring the bowl, he ran past Geralt and shut himself in the bathroom._

_Geralt let himself out._

_Jaskier was utterly drunk, so Geralt thought that whatever he had said held no meaning at all. And even if it did, Jaskier probably meant it the way he always did, love as a friend or just saying thank you. He was dating someone anyways (like he always did), it would be stupid of him to confess something of the sort for Geralt, while he was still going out with Cory (he remembered his name, just like he remember all of Jaskier’s boyfriends’ and girlfriends’ names, even though he tried so hard not to), his actual boyfriend. Although Geralt had to admit, Jaskier was pretty talented when it came to being stupid._

_He shoved this whole night into the back of his mind for good; Jaskier never brought it up, so it was likely he didn’t remember and whatever he had said meant nothing. The word ‘love’ suddenly held the same value as the words ‘pink elephant’._


	8. No more silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has another long day and Jaskier tries to help. Nakedness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! This was my absolute favourite part to write. There just had to be a bath scene, I'm sorry, I don't make the rules.

It was only three o’clock, but it was already getting dark and Jaskier watched from the kitchen window as the dark blue sky melted into the sea on the horizon, as he was wiping the dishes dry.

“Hey!” Ciri’s voice came straight from behind him and it startled him into dropping a grass green mug, which would have been broken if not for Ciri catching it by his elbow.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you,” she laughed at him and he really couldn’t be mad at her.

She took an apple from the basket on the countertop and sat down by the kitchen island.

“So did Geralt take you out yesterday?” Ciri asked casually, but when she noticed Jaskier’s expression as he nearly dropped a plate, she pulled in her neck apologetically. “I meant to the shop. Unless there is something I don’t know about.” She smiled smugly and bit into the apple.

Jaskier threw his hands in the air in surrender and left the dishes behind, to sit down opposite her.

*

Coming home after another long day that stretched into late night, Geralt only wished to have enough energy to make it to the shower and his bed. Yet when he stepped into the living room, he stopped involuntarily for the sight in front of him.

Jaskier was lying on his stomach, his pillow stuffed under his head and his new ridiculous pink blanket was already halfway on the floor. Geralt bent down to pick it up and tuck him in properly. Jaskier’s face looked so peaceful, making Geralt think about how he had never really seen this side of Jaskier.

He was always so _vivid_ ; when he was happy he gestured widely with his arms and often broke into songs, when he was excited he made small and sharp movements, riddled with electricity, when he was angry he made it clear, by speaking in short sentences with a frown and pointed, rigid motions. Even when he was sad his face morphed into an expression that was closest to neutral, while he was awake – but this. This was truly something different, there was nothing on his face but pure peace and innocence; like a piece of art and it felt like something fragile, something Geralt could break if he just took a wrong breath.

He was still wearing a pale orange shirt, instead of his pyjamas. No, actually there was one time when he worn this shirt and corrected him on this; it was “apricot, Geralt, _apricot_ , where is your ever so detailed witchery vision?” and Geralt told him then, it made little to no difference to him.

Except that it seemed that it was a sort of thing he wouldn't forget easily. Like so many other things he learned over the years from Jaskier’s ramblings, the fact that he started singing when he was six, but haven’t thought about going professional until the recent years, that he was twelve when his parents died, which made him forty-two (still quite young for an elfling), that his favourite food was French toast and many more things that he will never be able to forget.

And now he couldn't talk at all and suddenly Geralt wished he could, just so he could give him more things to remember.

He stepped back, taking one last look and then went upstairs.

*

On Monday night (which was according to Jaskier’s calendar the eleventh day of his muteness) Geralt came home, soaked in hours old, half-dried blood and at least two different creature’s guts, his armour was slashed open in the middle of his chest, under that his bloody skin showed a superficial cut. He was clearly not in a good mood, which was something they could absolutely agree on with Jaskier.

The witcher dropped his swords on the floor and kicked his dirty boots off. He tried to pass his fingers through his hair exasperatedly, but they stuck in the goo.

Jaskier flipped a page – that he coloured black in its whole with his pen in his boredom – and scribbled down a 'let me help’ on the next one.

“With what?” Geralt asked confused.

He quickly wrote his answer and held up the notebook for the other to see.

'Bathe. Let me wash your hair.’

Geralt looked at him sceptically and it was the biggest tell-tale sign of his fatigue that he didn’t even argue, just made his way up to the bathroom.

Jaskier went after him and by the time he got there Geralt had already shed his armour and now he was unbuttoning his shirt. Jaskier followed his movements with his eyes, button by button, then the fabric sweeping down on his shoulders, revealing muscles and pale skin riddled with scars.

Jaskier wanted to be useful and it seemed like a good idea at first. But he didn’t quite think through the part where Geralt was _naked_.

He felt heat filling his cheeks, so he quickly turned his back to the witcher and opened the tap, starting the water for the bath. He put some scented oils in it that supposedly were good disinfectants – but definitely smelled great enough to drown out the gut smell –, then he poured in some of Geralt’s body wash, hoping that it would foam up nice enough to cover up the man’s more sensitive body parts.

He kept his eyes at a height were he _definitely_ won’t see anything that he shouldn’t, but even then just the sight of Geralt's chest and shoulders unclothed made him feel uncomfortable, or way too comfortable to be more exact.

When the witcher settled, the bath was already half-full and fortunately for Jaskier very foamy; he dipped his hand into the water to check the temperature. Suddenly Geralt grabbed his wrist under the water and looked at him intently, trying to talk with his eyes, as if he was the one without his voice. But then he released him without actually saying anything.

Jaskier didn’t know what to make of it. They locked eyes for seconds – that lasted seemingly forever. Instead of letting his mind go into a spiral, he broke away and started to look for a jug to use for cleaning Geralt’s hair.

When the bathtub was full he stopped the tap and suddenly the silence was deafening. He always hated silence and he absolutely had enough of it for life at this point.

He lightly tapped Geralt’s shoulder to make him follow his movements with his eyes, as he turned and wrote one word into the steam on the mirror.

'talk’

When Geralt looked at him to elaborate, he added underneath: 'no more silence’.

The witcher gave him a thoughtful “hm” and examined the tiles on the wall for a minute, before he started to talk in a low, calming tone.

“Today by the park, the one close to Triss’ place,” he began a little awkwardly, while Jaskier started to work on his hair, combing through it bit by bit. He wanted to ask if Geralt had seen Triss recently and did he know how she is, but once again he was stuck with his muteness. So he tried to concentrate on the white locks and the soothing voice instead. “Someone called in for an emergency contract, because of a dragon.” Geralt’s must have felt Jaskier’s hand still in his hair, so he continued quickly. “Obviously it was a wyvern, as usual, but a moody one at that.”

Geralt continued talking and Jaskier poured some shampoo into his hands and then started to rub it into the witcher’s hair, drawing slow circles onto his scalp.

“And then it escaped, so I had to chase it down two floors,” he said and Jaskier didn’t miss the way his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into his touch. “While all of the residents were watching from their doors.” Jaskier imagined Geralt trying to restrain a wyvern in a packed hallway, it wasn’t really funny, but the annoyed expression on the witcher’s face made him smile nonetheless. He poured some water over his hair and started to massage the conditioner into it; he was rewarded with a satisfied sound from Geralt, which was pretty much on the verge of an actual _moan_.

It was glorious and mortifying at the same time, because he knew for a fact that witchers had a very specific sort of smelling sense and although he was not entirely sure, if Geralt could smell his arousal, he didn’t really want to find out. He hoped that if that was the case, the scent of the body wash and oils would cover it up for him.

He twisted Geralt’s hair up in a wet bun, then took the sponge and slowly started to wash his neck and shoulders, drawing an infinity symbol between them over and over. He looked at the witcher’s slick skin and defined muscles and all the scars pulling over them. Some might say they’ve blemished his skin, but Jaskier loved them, because they told tales, snippets of Geralt’s life and maybe they weren’t happy memories, but as much as they shaped Geralt’s body, they shaped his life too.

“Eventually I caught it, but then the guy said he won’t pay, because of some sort of property damage.” Geralt continued quietly as Jaskier’s hands ventured forward circling on his shoulders, his neck and then his chest. He knew it was a dangerous game what he was playing right now, Geralt could stop him at any moment, declaring it too much and reluctantly so, but Jaskier had to admit he would be right.

On the other hand, he couldn’t really stop himself, because he wanted Geralt for years, gods nearly a decade. This was probably all he could ever get. So he pushed and stretched until he was stopped.

“Of course he had to pay, thanks to the upgraded emergency contracts.”

Jaskier added the Conditions and Obligations part to the emergency contracts back in his first year with the witchers, when they told him that the emergency clients were the ones who were almost always tried to get out of a payment, claiming that they caused bigger damage than their price. It was like saying thank you, if Jaskier ever heard one.

Jaskier was running his hand along Geralt’s chest and his fingers bumped against his newest wound. It wasn’t the worst he’d seen on the witcher, but it was still deep enough to cause him significant pain, if inflamed.

Jaskier got up and walked around to pick up the bottle of aloe Vera gel they normally used on smaller wounds and sat down on the edge of the tub, balancing his weight carefully. He poured some of the gel into his palm and from there, he smeared it onto the tip of his fingers. He was aware that Geralt was watching him silently, following his movements with his eyes and the baby hairs on the nape of his neck were standing, even against the humidity.

Jaskier slowly traced the wound from left to right, then back with a feather light touch, making sure not to inflict any more pain than necessary, although he was sure Geralt wouldn’t complain anyways.

He tried to just look at Geralt’s chest, but when his eyes wandered up to his face, their gaze met and Jaskier stopped with his hand still on the witcher, incapable of looking away, frozen. It was just like before, when he caught his wrist; it looked like he wanted to say something, but then he didn’t. Jaskier didn’t know what to do, how to react, but a very tiny part of him was happy for his muteness, because he was afraid if he’d have his voice, he’d say something that he’d immediately regret.

He got up awkwardly, breaking their connection abruptly and nodded towards Geralt, without finding his eyes again. Trusting Geralt’s abilities to dry himself, Jaskier scrammed the bathroom as fast as he could and left him.

He retreated to the living room, feeling a little flushed. He could still smell the aloe Vera on his hands.

Jaskier wondered if he ever heard Geralt speak this much all at once. There was a tight warmth straining his chest, because Geralt didn’t have to do this, he didn’t have to talk just so Jaskier wouldn’t feel bad. But he did anyway.

*

It became a habit; every time they’ve spent together – be it just eating or sleepless nights spent sitting on the sofa – Geralt was talking to Jaskier.

It was weird being the one to fill the silence for the both of them, he possibly said more in these days than throughout this year all together, but Jaskier seemed a bit calmer, less stressed at the very least, so it was worth it, even though he was running out of things to talk about. So after telling him about the day’s contracts in stupidly great details, that he was sure even Jaskier wouldn’t ask for, he started talking about anything that Ciri told him recently, if he ran into anyone they don’t see on a daily basis, but then after a week he couldn’t think of anything new to say.

They were sitting on the sofa drinking beer, Jaskier had his notebook and his phone in his lap, in case he had something to add to the topic, which made it almost like a normal conversation. Almost.

Geralt was surprised how despite how annoying he found Jaskier’s rambling, humming, singing and just general chattering when he met him, over the years it provided a sort of soothing background noise, and now he desperately missed the man’s voice. Even those months that they spent on bad terms were better, because then Geralt could at least hear him through the walls while he was talking to Ciri on the phone. Now there was nothing, but soft huffs and the sound of scribbling on the paper.

He was telling Jaskier about the manticore he slew in his youth, nearly biting the dust, when they sat down beside each other. So he wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up on the topic, but now he was talking about what Vesemir told him about the attack of Kaer Morhen.

“It happened nearly ten years before I was even born, fanatics convinced a group of sorcerers to help them destroy the keep, where all the witchers trained, learned and in generally lived and grown up. They attacked under the cover of the night, breaking through their magical defences and started to kill everyone they’ve found. Of course the witchers have fought, but most of them weren’t even through their trials, let alone their trainings, there were many kids who only recently came to Kaer Morhen and had no idea how to even use a sword. It was a bloodbath and we lost over eighty percent of our own.”

Suddenly Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shirt over his upper arm and tugged to make him look at him; his eyes were glistening with unshed tears and his lips were trembling, as he scrambled for his notebook and wrote only this: 'I’m sorry’.

“I wasn’t there,” Geralt said softly, “and now it’s in the past.”

He shrugged, but the movement was ragged and stiff. Suddenly Jaskier pulled him into a hug and Geralt put his hands loosely on his back, slowly starting to move his hands up and down calmingly, while Jaskier aggressively fisted his shirt over his shoulder blades.

He couldn’t talk, but he still managed to find a way to offer reassurance and comfort for him. Geralt laid a palm over his soft hair and stroked it a few times. Jaskier’s face was pressed into his shoulder and Geralt could feel as his shirt dampened by his tears.

As usual Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve. Geralt knew that Jaskier valued justice over everything, he knew this from their very first conversation and it was one of the things that he loved about him.

Jaskier pulled back, his face streaked by tear marks and his lashes still wet. Geralt swept a few stray locks away from his forehead and ending the motion he left his palm on his right cheek, rubbing away the remaining wetness with his thumb. They locked eyes and that was when he realised he went too far, if they stayed like this, he’ll do something that would definitely scare away Jaskier for good; he had nowhere to go and no voice to speak, gods knew what he’ll do.

He pulled away and stood up in one swift motion.

“I’ll get more beer,” was all he said and if Jaskier noticed that his last bottle was still half-full, he didn’t point it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated a day early, because I started to work on other (geraskier) stuff and just wanted to get this out there.  
> Also because of the bath scene. Really. I just... I can't with these two.


	9. Back to normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting tense between Jaskier and Geralt, Ciri plays matchmaker and Jaskier finally gets his voice back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters are going to be a little longer than usual, because I just couldn't find a sensible place to cut them.  
> And as usual, hope you enjoy the story as we're getting closer to the end of it!

That moment on the sofa wasn’t the last hot-call. Ever since then, there was a sort of tension around them that Jaskier couldn’t quite explain. Geralt was nicer to him than ever, which was great, because spending even more time alone in the silence would be absolutely unbearable.

But when the witcher let his guards down around him like this, it was much harder to hold back his affections. He was walking on thin ice ever since the bath, which somehow ended up bringing them closer and Jaskier loved seeing this side of Geralt. But it was like a very fragile china bowl; beautiful and priceless, but easily broken by an incautious hand.

*

On the twenty-second day Jaskier was standing by the stove, making dinner and Geralt was sitting by the kitchen island talking absentmindedly, filling in the silence. Jaskier normally hummed when he cooked, but the deep resonance of the witcher’s voice worked just as well.

He was telling Jaskier about how he didn’t want to claim Ciri for years after the encounter with her family, because he wanted to give her the opportunity for a normal life, something that has been taken away from him, when he was a child. But when the war came Geralt had no choice but to take her, protect her, and eventually train her to become stronger. Jaskier was vaguely familiar with this story, yet hearing Geralt’s side of it was somehow different.

Jaskier wanted to tell Geralt that Ciri probably didn’t mind it at all that this was how they ended up. She of course felt the pain and the loss of the war, as so many of them, but she clearly loved Geralt and enjoyed her life the way it was, even if sometimes it got a little messy.

But he couldn’t say any of it, so he just kept on stirring the soup in the pot.

*

The twenty-fourth day left Geralt and Jaskier spending a full day together, so in the morning they took Roach for a walk. Since it was still pretty early, there weren’t many people on the streets, which was convenient, when one tried to walk a dog the size of a filly.

Jaskier followed Roach with his eyes as she sniffed every tree trunk and lamppost, occasionally marking them her own.

It was getting really cold now, Jaskier could feel the chill biting into his bones through his thin jacket and the stray drops of rain on his cheeks, but he enjoyed the fresh air just as much. He only left the flat a handful of times in the past few weeks; he took walks with Ciri when she had the time (which in his opinion was just too rarely), and went shopping with her or Geralt about three times. He felt shut-in, although he had to admit that the talks with Geralt eased his mood greatly.

The witcher looked content as he walked by Jaskier’s side, holding onto the leash with such ease like there wasn’t a ten stone dog pulling on the other end of it.

They walked closer to each other than it was strictly necessary, but Jaskier didn’t want to point it out in case it would make Geralt pull away; he liked the idea that Geralt was comfortable with his company, but there was a little voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that it’ll probably go away in two days. After all they’ve been friends for over a decade now, well co-workers at the very least and Geralt never even called Jaskier his friend and anytime Jaskier would do that, he always shut him down.

He stopped in his tracks.

“You alright?” Geralt looked back at him, as he noticed he wasn’t walking beside him anymore.

This was clearly temporary and Jaskier knew that he’ll lull himself into false hopes, if he stays too close. He decided to look for a new apartment as soon as he had his voice back.

He forced a smile on his face and nodded, catching up to the witcher with a quick jog and they walked on in silence.

*

On Monday Ciri and Jaskier were sitting in the kitchen, a notebook haphazardly open in front of Jaskier and two mugs of coffee steaming beside it.

“I’m glad there’s only one more day left.” She said, stirring her coffee. “I miss your songs and someone to actually talk to and not _at_.” She made a face and then took a sip, moving the handle of the spoon to the side.

Jaskier just nodded and drank his coffee out of his favourite mug (it was sky blue with a little yellow flower on it).

“You know, I’m sure Geralt misses your voice too, but he wouldn’t say it.”

One of the loveliest things about Ciri was that although she was just as tough as Geralt, she had a childhood that taught her how to socialise. Also her ability and experience in carrying a one-sided conversation alone came rather handy.

“He missed you.” Jaskier couldn’t help but let the surprise sit out on his face. “Yeah, when you had that stupid fight, he was so miserable.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as a mischievous little grin started to form on Ciri’s face.

“You know, I actually put you on speaker every time you called.” _Unbelievable._ “He pretended not to listen, but he couldn’t fool me. I mean, it was just so obvious.”

He shook his head, even if he’d have his voice he wouldn’t know what to say.

After a short pause he took his pen into his hand and quickly wrote down his opinion, then passed it to Ciri.

‘He wasn’t miserable because of me, he was miserable because of Yennefer.’

“That too, sure, but you know they talked again that week and sorted some stuff out. But he was _still_ miserable after that,” she explained patiently. “Until you moved in.”

Jaskier had the feeling that whatever she was about to say he didn’t want to hear it, although he didn’t really have the resources to say no.

Ciri was stirring her drink suspiciously slow and Jaskier was already thinking about _anything_ else that would deter her from what was coming next; but his mind went blank. There was no way out of this conversation.

“I think he likes you. And before you say anything I _know_ you like him.” She put her hand on his wrist and looked in his eyes meaningfully.

All Jaskier could do was to mouth a weak “how?”

“I’ve known it for years really. It’s nothing specific just the way you talk about him, how you act around him and the fact that you stuck around this long. And that you came back.” She said in a how’s-the-weather sort of tone, then she continued smugly. “Also I remember how many people you’ve dated when you started to work here, girlfriends and boyfriends all over the place! And don’t give me the ‘I don’t have time’ bullshit. You’ve never had time and still managed to go on dates. You haven’t been on a date in like what? Four years?”

Jaskier was scraping at the petals of the flower on his mug, staring at it intently.

He couldn’t deny it, not out loud and not written down, because it was true through and through and hiding it was much easier than straight out lie about it, especially now.

Ciri squeezed his hand. “It’s okay Jask. Actually, I think you should talk to him.”

For that he shook his head vehemently and formed a clear “no” with his mouth.

She just rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then both of you should just brew in your own stew.” She got up and put her now empty mug into the sink. “Seriously, if there is a simple solution to anything, none of you would ever take it, even if your lives depended on it. Fine, okay, fine. Look at each other longingly for ten more years, that’ll do the trick. _Men_ , I swear…”

Geralt always said that she learned how to ramble from Jaskier and he had to give it to him; it was very likely.

They’ve spent another five minutes this way; Ciri calling them names quickly increasing in dirtiness, then finally she decided the pair of them were a couple of hopeless idiots and left it at that.

*

When Geralt came home Ciri eyed him suspiciously and Jaskier wondered if she’d spark up the same conversation with Geralt later that she had with Jaskier. He really hoped she wouldn’t. Because even though she was right about him, Jaskier didn’t think she was right about Geralt.

He followed Geralt’s every movement with his eyes as he walked about the kitchen, filling his plate with Jaskier’s latest work (rice mixed with veggies and stew), Geralt didn’t say much and Jaskier noticed that the closer they’ve got to the full moon, the tenser he got. Jaskier assumed that he wanted to get over it, so Jaskier could go back to work and get out of his hair. The thought made his shoulders slump.

Ciri excused herself and left to take a bath, then retreated to her room; Jaskier was sure she just wanted to leave them alone. He rolled his eyes at the thought of that, which won him a raised eyebrow from the older witcher. Jaskier just shook his head dismissively.

Geralt sat down opposite him and if he noticed the shift in Jaskier’s mood, he didn’t say. He just sat there making soft noises as he ate; logically Jaskier knew that he was not required to sit through Geralt’s dinner, especially since he already had his own, but he also knew that if he left, he would have to sit alone in the silence of the living room.

He only had to deal with this for one more day and then it was over.

Suddenly Geralt put down his fork and looked at Jaskier, he thought the witcher might need something; he didn’t even finish his food yet, but instead of getting up or asking for something he only said two words.

“Thank you.”

Jaskier felt like someone just yanked his soul out of his body, he was incapable of moving or looking away at all.

These were simple enough words and although Geralt did not say them often, it wasn’t the first time by a long shot, the peculiar thing was the tone. And Jaskier thought he probably only thanked him for the food, but somehow it sounded so much deeper, like he was talking about something entirely different. All in all, he felt confused.

When he thought he finally could move his body – which could have been seconds or could have been hours in his opinion – he just nodded curtly.

“Hm” was all he got in response and Geralt resumed to finish his dinner.

*

Later that night, they’ve found themselves on the sofa, pressed to each other shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Geralt told him about the first time Ciri had a boyfriend and Jaskier laughed soundlessly as he told him how the boy took her out for dinner and brought her back half an hour early and never came back.

Ciri didn’t talk to him for a week after that.

He could feel the vibration of Jaskier’s body, shaking with his laughter and he wished it would be a day later, so he could actually hear him laugh. Somehow their position shifted just enough, that now Geralt’s arm was draped over Jaskier’s shoulder and he was pressed flush against his side, his head technically leaning back on the witcher’s bicep.

When Jaskier finally calmed down, he tipped his head back all the way on Geralt’s arm and turned to look into his eyes, they were _so close_ , Geralt wouldn’t have to move an inch to kiss him. He wanted to tell Jaskier that he has to stop doing this, he has to stop coming so close, because he won’t be able to keep it under control anymore. But he couldn’t tell him, not without exposing his feelings in the first place.

There was something shifting through the elfling’s face, but Geralt couldn’t quite place it in his mind. His eyes flickered down to his lips and Jaskier mouthed a soft “Geralt”, but didn’t write anything down to greater detail.

“Go to sleep.” He told him evenly, pulling away carefully and getting up from the sofa – not at all to escape the situation, merely, because it served as Jaskier’s bed.

*

Tuesday came filled with anticipation and Jaskier was positively shaking with excitement. He never knew that something that he always took granted could get him this excited. He wanted to talk and sing and laugh at the faces that Ciri made to mock others and snort at the snide comments Geralt made at dinner.

Yennefer’s house – that doubled as her office – was a huge, stylish building that Jaskier would dare to call a smaller mansion. She had a room that she used to take care of clients especially; it was dimly lit, filled with objects covered with drapes and fabrics, it smelled strongly of herbs and spices, making him feel a little dopy.

She was not one for wasting time, so as soon as they arrived, she made him lay down on a sturdy bed, which was hard enough to make him wonder if it was made of actual stones.

“Hold him down.” Yennefer said offhandedly, while she was smearing some sort of oil on her palms and Geralt obliged seemingly without a second thought, walking over to Jaskier’s head and holding him in place by his shoulders.

Jaskier mouthed a confused “what” but no one seemed to care or even notice.

The sorceress leaned into his view, making her thick locks fall into his face.

“If you didn’t hate me until now, this will do the trick. It’ll hurt like hell, but it shall restore your voice as good as new.” She seemed genuinely sorry for him, which wasn’t a good sign, but he wanted his voice back.

Jaskier wanted to nod, or to express any sort of understanding towards her really, but the next thing he knew was that she was raising her arms and whispering in elder. He couldn’t even concentrate on the words, because suddenly there was a horrible sensation running through his body, it was like a very sharp knife, trying to cut him open from his pelvis to his throat.

Jaskier was vaguely aware that he was thrashing against Geralt’s grip and Yennefer’s voice seemed like it was echoing back to him from three different places. He was sure that he was screaming and even though there was still no sound coming out of him, it used up all of his air and energy, but he couldn’t help it; the pain was all-consuming.

He squeezed his eyes shut throughout the most of it, but when he did open them slightly his gaze met Geralt’s worried looks and it made him squirm even more. Sweat broke on his forehead, meeting stray tracks of tears and it felt like a shield of ice on his skin.

_It has to be over soon, it has to, it has to…_

As abruptly as it started the pain had stopped and his body flopped back against the bed; all of his muscles felt weak and overused, as if there was nothing left of his body, but an empty vessel.

Blissful darkness came to his aid; he didn’t know if it was from the torture of the spell or Yennefer’s kindliness, but he welcomed it all the same.

*

When Jaskier woke up it was still dark and at first he wasn’t sure where he was, but as his eyes adjusted, he found himself in the familiar setting of Geralt’s living room. He was staring at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, with a pounding head and a soar throat. He didn’t know if the spell worked, but he didn’t actually feel like he had much energy to talk, which wasn’t fair at all.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s voice startled a little yelp out of him; well at least now he knew that he indeed had his voice back.

“Melitele’s tits Geralt, did no one ever tell you, it’s rude to sneak up on people?” Jaskier croaked as he sat up clutching his shirt just above his heart. It hurt him to speak, but it was a good sort of pain.

The witcher’s lips quirked up a little at that, but he just pushed a glass of water into his hand with a soft “drink”.

So he did. It made the sore feeling in his throat significantly better, but the rest seemed to stay the way it was. But if this was the price for getting his voice back, he could deal with that for now. He did hope that it’ll go away by tomorrow though.

The funny thing was up until now he wanted to say so many things, but he couldn’t voice it. Now he had the ability, but not the faintest idea of what to say.

“Ciri will be back soon. She wanted to check on you, before she leaves.” Geralt informed him.

“Where, uh, where is she going?”

“We’ve got a contract by the docks about an alleged siren, she’s going to set up camp and watch the area.”

He nodded.

Jaskier has never actually met a siren before, he wasn’t sure how common they were in other cities by the sea, but here they’ve had much more problems with drowners and on one occasion a selkimore, although the latter is not actually dangerous, until it’s being poked at, only if very scary looking.

Geralt apparently deemed the conversation done, as he started towards the door.

“Hey!” He shouted after him, immediately regretting it as a sharp pain shot through his throat. “Where are you going?” He added a bit more quietly.

“I’ve got a nightwraith to take care of. Go back to sleep.” He said and then turned around and left, leaving Jaskier looking at the door long after it was shut.

Of course he was expecting Geralt’s behaviour to go back to how it was before, now that he had his voice and all. But nothing prepared him for the pain that came with it.

He thought it wasn’t fair. Geralt did not _have_ to be nice, just because he was injured (well not even injured, majorly inconvenienced rather) if he didn’t want to. It wasn’t like Jaskier forced him to be, he asked him to talk once, in the bathroom. Every other time was his decision and if Jaskier didn’t stop him – because it felt good that the witcher was kind to him, after all those years of gruff comments and reluctantly letting Jaskier to tag along and even then complaining about it – well it wasn’t like he could do much about it now.

Jaskier took what he could, but now there was nothing left to take. The only problem was, from this near proximity he will never be satisfied with that, he had to get over Geralt, so it was time that he did his part and put some distance between them.

He had to move out.

*

Geralt missed Jaskier’s voice, he really did. But coming home for him shouting on the street was not something he longed for in the slightest.

As he turned down the corner, he could see a couple of teenagers seemingly throwing stones at the Firm’s door – and apparently at Jaskier, who was yelling at them and kept picking up stones from the ground and chucking them after the boys, as they ran away, shouting back profanities.

“Jaskier.” Geralt stopped beside him, frowning. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jaskier panted angrily, seemingly incapable of finding the right words to answer. He wiped at his left eyebrow with the back of his hand, as blood trickled onto it from a cut on his forehead.

“They, they came and threw stones at the door and said… things, about witchers so I came out… to stop them.” He said finally, his voice shaking with fury.

Geralt only inclined his head curiously.

“Jaskier. Don’t tell me you got so worked up about a few kids throwing stones.” He knocked on the glass door demonstratively. “Doesn’t break that easily anymore, remember?”

Jaskier looked at him disbelievingly for a second, then he pushed himself past him and strode into the office. Geralt followed him confused and heard him say: “I don’t care about the fucking door.”

He caught up to Jaskier in two quick steps and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“What is it about then?”

Jaskier stiffened under his touch for a second, then went limp with resignation.

“You didn’t hear the things they said.”

“Who cares what some snotty teenagers think?” He asked honestly, but it didn’t seem to ease Jaskier’s mood.

“Every time when I think it got better, I have to realise it’s still the same.” He said quietly and Geralt didn’t know what to say to that. He let go of his wrist and Jaskier wiped at his cut again.

“Come on, we have to patch you up.”

Jaskier was sitting on the lid of the toilet as Geralt cleaned his wound. He was standing so close, Jaskier could smell his scent; their fabric softener mixed with his deodorant and the lingering leather smell of his armour. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Yet again proving his own point that he has to move out, or he’s never going to get over the witcher.

Geralt put down the bloody cotton ball into a small bowl and turned back to him to put up the butterfly bandages. Jaskier wondered who came up with that name and really, for such a thing a name so pretty, it seemed like a waste.

“It is better.” Geralt said suddenly and Jaskier didn’t know what he was talking about at first. “Before you started this… ad campaign thing it was much worse. Now people barely remember Blaviken and Ciri could have a much tougher time, if not for you. If that matters at all, I am thankful for that.” He finished softly.

Jaskier could feel his own heart pounding against his ribs with every word.

He only hoped that he made a difference, at the core that was the reason he was doing all of it, but hearing it from Geralt spread warmth all over his body. He’d never been this proud of anything in his life.

Geralt patched him up, but instead of pulling back, he leaned close, smoothing over his cut with his thumb and their faces were impossibly close. Jaskier caught his gaze and there it was again; the look like he wanted to say or do something.

But this time instead of pulling back, he lingered. Jaskier was afraid if he moved the moment would break, but the rush of blood was deafening in his ears. Geralt’s eyes landed on his lips and he felt so self-conscious suddenly, what was he looking at anyways? His eyes flipped back up and oh. Was he doing what Jaskier thought he was doing? Definitely not, he must have imagined it, or misunderstood the look on his face.

Geralt started to move slowly, leaning closer, until there wasn’t much _closer_ left. Jaskier’s breath hitched, then suddenly there was the tell-tale sound of a portal coming from downstairs.

“Damnit.” Geralt pulled back with irritation and strode down the stairs, leaving Jaskier sitting there all confused, alone with his rabbit heart and welling up tears.


	10. Friends don't do that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri's keep trying to get some sense into Geralt's head and he has to face the fact that Jaskier is about to move out.

Now that he had his voice back, Jaskier had to concentrate really hard on what he said around Geralt, at least until he could find a place and finally put some distance between himself and the witcher. He actually missed some aspects of his muteness; for example he had time to think about what he wrote down, before showing it to anyone, now the words came unprompted and unsupervised. It was almost like a barrier or a shield that protected him from his own stupidity, but now there was nothing holding him back from splurting out his feelings. He was afraid it was a disaster waiting to happen, if he stayed close any longer.

*

Geralt took out Roach for a night walk to clear his head and watched her running around and sniffing pretty much every tree on their way. They’ve been out for a while now, the Sun has been long settled, when he decided that it was time to turn around.

The cold washed over him and he relished it thoroughly. It had been two days since the incident in the bathroom with Jaskier. When Yennefer showed up he was furious at first, but in hindsight it was actually lucky, because apparently if left alone he didn’t have any self-control. He nearly kissed Jaskier, for gods’ sake. Geralt could still hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears and the smell of confusion in his nostrils.

“Fuck.” He said for the memory and Roach looked up at him questioningly from the bush she was sniffing at.

His phone was ringing and the display informed him that it was Ciri.

“How’s the stake-out?” He asked her, while with an unnecessarily difficult motion he swapped Roach’s leash and his phone in his hands.

“Boring. There is nothing here, I swear.” Geralt could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“A job is a job. They are paying.”

“Yes, I suppose.” She agreed with resignation laced through her voice. “Anyway,” she chirped up and it made Geralt close his eyes in anticipation. Whatever came next, he’s not gonna like it. “Did you talk to Jaskier?”

He knew what she was getting at, but hoped that she won’t push it; the last time she brought it up he shut her down within minutes by walking away.

“I haven’t seen him today.”

“Oh.”

After that there was a sudden silence on the other end.

“Ciri? Is everything alright?” He stopped and Roach looked back at him suspiciously.

“Yeah, yeah of course. You know he’s looking for a place, right?” She asked with a weird tone, that Geralt could only categorise as ‘sad’. This was one of the downsides of using a phone; not being able to smell other’s emotions made it so much harder to communicate.

Roach pulled on her leash a little and they continued walking. They were almost in their street.

“No. He didn’t tell me.”

And why didn’t he? And more importantly why would he move out? Geralt’s place couldn’t be any closer to their office and he didn’t even have to pay rent. He knew that he actually didn’t have a room or a bed, but he also knew that although Jaskier liked fancy stuff, like clothing and fragrances and hair products, interestingly he didn’t care much for comfort. And even if he would, they could always just buy a convertible bed.

“Well, he told me.”

Geralt automatically opened and locked first the door to the office, then to the flat. It was empty, just like before he left. He took a deep breath just to fill his lungs with the lingering scent of Jaskier’s cologne.

He clicked the leash off of Roach’s collar and she went straight to her water bowl.

“When is he going to move?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me!” She yelled into his ear indignantly. He held the phone a bit farther away just in case. “You can’t just let him go!”

Geralt sighed.

“Makes no difference. He’s still going to work with us.” He said, despite the fact that he thought it did make quite a big difference indeed.

“That’s not the same. Geralt, you really can’t see it?” Ciri asked softly and Geralt didn’t know what to say. “Just think about all the stuff he does for us, for _you_.” Ciri sounded a little tired, talking about this again and again. Geralt felt much the same, for a somewhat different reason.

“He does it, because we are friends. Or so he says.”

Geralt started to wander around the living room without any destination in mind, just to use some of his pent-up energy, as the effect of his cold night walk was starting to wear off.

“Really? So tell me what is he doing for you, as a _friend_?”

Geralt sighed. He could have tried to avoid the argument, but he would have failed, maybe he could have postponed it, but Ciri would corner him eventually. It was the smarter thing to just surrender now.

“Work doesn’t count, he gets paid for that,” he started and Ciri hummed along on the other end, “I guess he cooks and cleans, but he doesn’t pay rent, so that’s really the bare-”

“Geralt. Stop deflecting.”

He stayed silent for a moment, then:

“One time he washed my hair.” Geralt admitted with defeat and he could hear Ciri sharply inhale on the other end of the line.

“Geralt. Friends don’t do that.” Ciri said with a meaningful tone and Geralt didn’t know what to make of it.

“Well. As you see, they do.”

“No, Geralt, they don’t. Do you think Jaskier ever washed my hair? Even you never washed my hair and we are family. I bet he scrubbed your back too… I don’t know why do I have to spell this out for you.”

Geralt’s mouth hung open just slightly, but there were no coherent thoughts forming in his mind.

“I still think you should just tell him how you feel.”

“Since when are you so invested in my love life?” He grumbled.

“I just want you to be happy, the both of you.”

“What good would it do if I told Jaskier?” He snapped impatiently.

“Told me what?”

Suddenly said man’s head popped through the balcony’s door into the living room and it rendered Geralt stunned for a second. “I thought I heard your voice!” Jaskier smiled warmly.

“Fuck.”

“Geralt?” Ciri’s voice came from the phone, alarmed as any good witcher’s should be by a cut off phone call. He would be really proud right now, if his mind wouldn’t be otherwise occupied.

“I’ll call you back later.” He only said and put his phone away.

“Told me what?” Jaskier asked again.

“Nothing.” Geralt asnwered a little too quickly. “You fixed the door.”

“Oh, yeah, on Monday I finally… I forgot to tell you.” Jaskier inclined his head and looked a little worried.

“You’re moving out.”

Geralt wondered how he managed to talk to Jaskier almost non-stop for a month and now all he could do was stating facts.

“Yeah.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

There was a beat of silence between them. Jaskier was still standing outside on the balcony and Geralt was still in the living room, separated by the threshold only. The elfling sighed and shook his head.

“I just figured you had quite enough of me by now, you know it’s more than enough that you have to see me at work and all.”

“I don’t mind seeing you. At home I mean, it’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Jaskier repeated back to him so quietly, it was almost just and exhale. Geralt watched as his breath draw small clouds in front of his face, while tiny snowflakes started to sprinkle down behind him.

Geralt struggled with what to say, looking for the right words that wouldn’t chase Jaskier away. Finally he settled on a simple “yes”.

“Oh.”

“Just don’t make me talk.”

Jaskier laughed and his voice was so refreshing and Geralt only just realised that he haven’t heard him laugh for a month and it was the only sound that ever made his chest feel this tight.

“Don’t go.” Geralt said quietly and Jaskier looked at him wide-eyed.

“Don’t… go?”

“Don’t go.” He repeated firmly. Man, this conversation was going great and not even a little bit like he wanted to just go out and find another nightwraith instead of having it.

“I’ll get you a convertible bed,” he said hastily and it seemed like it was the wrong thing to say because Jaskier only looked at him even more worried and now also very confused.

“A convertib- are you alright, Geralt? What are you talking about?”

He was positively going mad.

“I can’t give you a room, but if you want more comfort, we can get you a bed here or you can move up to my room and I move down.”

“I… what? It’s not about comfort, Geralt, I am actually perfectly fine on the sofa, it’s just about…” Jaskier trailed off, but instead of finishing what he started to say, he asked: “Geralt, why do you want me to stay? Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you if I left?”

“Because. I’ve got used to your scent.” He blurted out, giving himself the urge to just head-butt the doorframe here and now.

“A-ha. Well you’ve known me for over a decade now, I suppose that was long enough time to-“

“In the apartment, I’ve got used to it here, mixed with mine.” He amended quickly before he could end up in some sort of weird misunderstanding yet again. “I want it to stay like that,” he added more quietly.

“Geralt” Jaskier whispered, still looking at him with those brilliant blue eyes. The snow was picking up behind him and Geralt could see as the wind carried a few stray flakes onto Jaskier’s shirt, where they melted almost instantly.

“I want you here, because you make this place home. I want you in my life and I did for a long while, despite the things that I told you before.” Jaskier was keep looking at him, so he continued. “It might be selfish, if that’s not what you want, but I’d like you to stay. Here, with me.” It might be too much, but he couldn’t really stop now, so he added barely above a whisper: “I care about you.”

Jaskier sighed and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He was shaking in the cold, yet he still didn’t make a move to come inside.

“Geralt, I don’t… I want to stay too. But you have to understand that if we are this close all the time,” he indicated the little distance between them with his index finger, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to deal with that.”

“What do you mean?” He was willing to change anything in the flat or his lifestyle, whatever was the price of keeping Jaskier close.

“Geralt…” Jaskier huffed out a little mirthless laugh and suddenly he seemed upset. Geralt had absolutely no idea what did he do this time. “You know perfectly well, what I mean. I already told you years ago how I feel and it hasn’t changed since.”

Geralt gaped at him.

“You remember that?”

Jaskier nodded.

“I didn’t think you were serious, you were drunk and talking nonsense.” He shook his head a little, just to make sure he was awake and understood the situation well enough.

“You never heard that drunk people are the most honest?” Jaskier smiled at him softly and he smiled back.

“Hm.”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face into his palms and he felt the cold skin under his own warm fingers. He leaned a little closer and his eyes fluttered half-shut already.

“So you won’t mind, if I… do this?” He murmured it onto Jaskier’s lips and in response he closed the distance between them, draping his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. It was a soft, almost chaste kiss, but it made Geralt feel like his heart just exploded. He buried his hands into Jaskier’s hair and deepened the kiss.

They only pulled apart enough to breathe, but their foreheads were still touching, so were their noses and Geralt nuzzled Jaskier’s tenderly, making him chuckle. Geralt ran his hands down to his shoulders and his back, settling on his waist, drawing tiny circles onto his sides with his thumbs.

“Please don’t change your mind.” Jaskier pleaded with a whisper and if Geralt couldn’t smell it, even then he would be able to pick up the desperation in his tone.

He pulled away just enough to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Instead of an answer he bent down and put one arm behind Jaskier’s knees and picked him up in bridal style, making him actually _squeal_.

He was chuckling all the way up the stairs, but when they passed the threshold of Geralt’s room he fell silent. Geralt put him down and his feet made no noise, as they touched down on the carpet.

“You are serious, aren’t you?” He placed his hands on Geralt’s chest and fixed his gaze on them.

“Ask me a hundred more times and we’ll see about it.” Geralt said with a smirk and Jaskier killed down an awakening smile on his own face, just to gasp at him dramatically.

Before he could get into it too much, Geralt kissed him and kicked the door shut with his heel, wheeling Jaskier towards his bed. He pushed him down gently and crawled on top of him. He started kissing his neck and behind his ear, breathing in his scent.

Jaskier was running his fingers up and down Geralt’s back, only stopping to untuck his shirt from his trousers and continue under it; his hands were still freezing cold against Geralt’s hot skin, but just the thought of how close they were now made him forget that immediately. Jaskier crossed his ankles behind his back, making their groins grind together and moaned into his ear.

“Fuck. Jaskier.”

“Yeah, that’s… that’s the general idea” he panted out and Geralt really couldn’t help it, he had to kiss him, just to make him shut up. Although if he really wanted to be honest, he never wanted him to shut up ever again, he wanted to hear the sweet noises he made over and over, until the day he died.

Jaskier fisted the collar of his shirt and deepened the kiss and never stopped moving his hips. Geralt growled into the kiss and Jaskier bit down on his bottom lip.

They practically haven’t done anything yet and he was already losing it.

Geralt pulled back and started to unbutton Jaskier’s shirt eagerly, while he was working on his trousers, fighting with his belt a little irritated. Geralt smiled down at him and loosened it quickly for himself. They shrugged out of their clothes swiftly and as skin touched skin he felt his eyes rolling back into his head.

He bit down on Jaskier’s neck, maybe harder than necessary, but Jaskier didn’t complain, just kept on making those little high-pitched moans, driving him totally insane. Geralt pulled back just to look at him, lying under him, in his bed. Jaskier’s hair was a mess, his lips were swollen and red and his gaze blurry with lust. Geralt has never seen him more beautiful before.

He started to map out his body by leaving open-mouthed kisses everywhere on his chest, licking a line over his navel and running his hands down by his side. He wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s erection and started a lazy rhythm, which he fastened up as Jaskier started to thrust into his fist impatiently and with his other hand he grabbed his ass, driving him closer to himself.

“Geralt” Jaskier’s breath hitched as he was clawing at his shoulders desperately. But suddenly he reached down and batted away his hand.

“This is not how I want to come” He said and seeing Geralt’s confused face he added: “I want you to… I want you inside me.”

Geralt really didn’t need to be told twice.

He moved the hand that he already had on Jaskier’s ass and put one finger close to his hole, drawing small circles on it teasingly and after a minute he slid it past his sphincter, making him tense up at first, then he started to move it slowly.

Geralt leaned down to distract Jaskier from the passing inconvenience by kissing him and after a couple of minutes he slid in a second finger. Jaskier’s kisses grown hungrier by the second and when he started to fuck himself down on Geralt’s fingers, he added a third one, trying to prepare him as best as he could.

There was only one problem though.

“I don’t have lube.” Geralt murmured with an irritated sigh, but Jaskier didn’t seem to be deterred at all.

“There might be a solution for that, not perfect, but… it’ll have to do.” Jaskier said with a meaningful voice and a grin that made Geralt shiver.

Jaskier eased himself off of his fingers and by pushing gently at Geralt’s shoulders, he swapped their positions and took his place between Geralt’s legs.

“Gorgeous. Just gorgeous” he whispered and the way he looked Geralt up and down made him feel like some sort of dessert, as the clear lust and hunger sat out on the elfling’s face.

He didn’t hesitate long, without much preamble he leaned down and took him into his mouth, holding onto the base with his hand. Geralt suddenly saw stars and couldn’t help the deep groan that ripped out of him. Jaskier just carried on, _moaning_ around his cock, like he was enjoying it just as much as Geralt.

He was bobbing his head on him, until Geralt had to pull him off, worrying to come before he would have the pleasure to experience Jaskier himself. Jaskier pulled off with a filthy, wet pop and Geralt had to admit, he was definitely slicker.

Jaskier crawled over him, sitting on his stomach for a brief second and kissed him, making him taste himself and that absolutely shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. Geralt grabbed his thigh and coaxed him upwards, then held his own length and guided it against Jaskier’s hole. And he started to lower himself, slowly.

It wasn’t overly easy, hell, it seemed excruciatingly slow, but he pushed inside eventually and he could tell Jaskier was still in discomfort, so he waited until he started to move by himself. Geralt gave the control into his hands, which he knew should be harder to do, but it just really wasn’t.

After long minutes passed, Jaskier slowly lifted himself up and then lowered himself down. He repeated the movement a handful of times with a patiently increasing pace, until there was a ragged moan breaking through his lips and Geralt slammed his hips up involuntarily just to make him do it again and again.

In this pose he could clearly see everything Jaskier felt, the small movements of his brows when it was just a little painful and the way his lips parted in pleasure, when Geralt hit just the right spot. Jaskier leaned back, propping himself up on his arms, by holding onto Geralt’s thighs and tipped his head back, making the tendons on his neck plainly visible.

But Geralt couldn’t help to look at his erection, full of blood and slick with precum. He wrapped his fingers around it yet again and mimicking the rhythm Jaskier dictated by riding him, he started to jerk him off, conjuring impeccable sounds out of him.

Geralt was close, he knew and he could tell Jaskier was too, by how the scent of his arousal grew so strong, there was barely anything else he could smell.

Their pace became furious and uncontrollable and Geralt watched as Jaskier’s back curved back and he came with a whine, spreading his seed on his stomach and Geralt’s hand. Geralt only needed a few more thrusts before he came inside Jaskier with a groan.

Jaskier pulled off of him and flopped onto him rather gracelessly.

“I’m not going to move ever again” he mumbled into Geralt’s shoulder and he smiled down at the top of his head.

As Jaskier promised, they stayed this way for a while, sticky with sweat and cum, but neither of them felt ready for the shower just yet. They were silent, save for their slowly regulating breaths.

“I’m sorry” Geralt said quietly, making Jaskier stir on top of him.

“Mm?” Jaskier lifted up his head and looked at him a little dazed.

“For not believing you, before.” He clarified.

Jaskier smiled at him warmly and lifted up his hand to caress his face tenderly. Geralt leaned into the touch.

“I’m just glad you finally do” Jaskier said and moved a little upwards to brush his lips against Geralt’s.

*

Not many things have changed, since they started dating. Well, except for the dating part. Jaskier’s blanket and pillow disappeared from the sofa, but he didn’t move far; only upstairs. Jaskier was yet again allowed to accompany the witchers on their contract missions, as now he could shout if he was in danger. Which he did and he was many times since.

Ciri and Yennefer finally became free of body guarding the meetings between the mayor and Tissaia, as they sorted out the new laws that favoured for everyone, well most everyone. Now any sort of discriminatory action which led to someone from with nonhuman blood getting hurt, publicly humiliated or losing their jobs was banned and entailed strict fines and other disciplinary actions. Of course that didn’t mean people couldn’t play these laws out if they wanted to, but it did protect many citizens from getting hurt and of course put Novigrad’s mages and mayor into a more popular place in the public eye.

Geralt woke up alone in his bed, which was unusual of late. Just a few weeks ago, there were many days that he woke up alone, as Jaskier couldn’t go back to sleep after having nightmares. But with time he had fewer and fewer.

So he dressed up and put on his armour and made his way down to the kitchen, where he found Jaskier and Ciri chatting happily around breakfast.

Jaskier’s breath smelled of orange juice and toothpaste and Geralt just couldn’t really hold back from kissing him. Jaskier reciprocated, smiling into the kiss.

It has been nearly a month since they started dating and Ciri still giggled every time she saw them like this. Geralt sighed and pulled away, stealing a buttered toast from Jaskier’s plate and a sip of his way too sweet coffee and then he was off.

Jaskier settled back to his barstool, chewing away on his toast and took a sip of his originally untouched coffee that now was ambushed by a witcher. He felt happy and content, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would last, months or years; he knew that the longer it lasted the more painful would it be to lose Geralt. He tried not to think about it constantly. But the more he tried, the more he failed.

“So you were saying…” Ciri prompted smugly, as their conversation was somewhat interrupted by Geralt’s presence.

“Oh yeah, so my ex-boss emailed me yesterday that I can have my job back. Apparently it’s not a popular thing anymore to get rid of elves” he grimaced.

“And? Are you gonna go back?” Ciri asked a little hesitantly.

Jaskier enjoyed his job with the Wolf Firm and there was a very fresh ad on the telly with a great new song about the battle of Novigrad, bringing in quite a few new contracts, keeping them busy. But he still wanted something more to do, something more flexible than the Ad Company used to be.

He shook his head.

“As of today, you’re looking at Julian Alfred Pankratz, journalist of the Novigrad Standard.” He made a little bow with his head and Ciri laughed at him.

“Nice.”

“Of course I’m just a temp at the moment, and the salary’s not the best, but with stories about monster-hunting witchers, I suppose I can get a promotion sooner or later.”

“I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.” Ciri said genuinely and Jaskier bit into his toast thoughtfully.

“Coin for your thoughts.” Ciri inclined her head curiously from behind his glass of orange juice.

“It’s nothing, it’s just… Do you ever think about the future?”

“How do you mean?” She asked as she chewed on her toast.

“Well I mean, we are going to live for a while, you and Geralt and most people we know really… I just think about it sometimes, you know? That how the world will change in a hundred or two hundred years?” Will Geralt still be with him? Could they stay friends if not? He really couldn’t live a life with the witcher absent, but he wasn’t sure he’d survive the breakup in the first place.

Ciri laughed softly.

“Well, aging is one thing, but there is a big chance that monsters kill us first. Even you, if you keep shadowing us all the time.”

That was also an upsetting option, if Jaskier wanted to be honest.

“But seriously, it’s something I wouldn’t worry about, we’d managed so far, we’ll manage in the future too. It’s not like we can control it.” She shrugged. “So might as well just enjoy the time we have and not plan too ahead of ourselves.” She got up from her stool and gripped his shoulder in reassurance. “Alright Mr. Journalist, time to go. That basilisk won’t slay itself.”

Jaskier nodded and took a last sip of his coffee.

“Come on Roach!” He called and reached out to pet her head as she ran up to him happily.

Jaskier has been through a lot of things in the past few months, but finally he could say he was happy with his family and maybe Ciri was right, there were things best left to the future and let Fate or Destiny take care of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you took this journey with me all the way to the end; thank you, I appreciate your time and I hope you enjoyed reading this story.  
> This was one of my favourite stories to write and funnily enough all this started out as a three chapter thing and then these two idiots decided to go and have more adventures without asking me, but so is life for a writer.

**Author's Note:**

> As you all know kudos and comments are love and power and I always love to hear from you guys!  
> Stay safe everyone!


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